Forward Motion
by DanaPod
Summary: All the Caskett conversations you've been wanting to see all season six in one story! A crime-of-the-week style story with plenty of Casketty goodness. Multi-chapter so buckle up for the long haul.
1. Chapter 1

**I've always thought of Castle as a love story first and foremost. If I were a writer on the show, I'd toss the procedural crime drama to the curb and focus on the relationship between Castle and Beckett with the COTW as the supporting story. This is me venting my season 6 frustrations. **

**Please review! This is my first fanfic, and I would love the feedback.**

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The clock on the microwave read 6:55. Early morning light began to filter in Richard Castle's NYC loft as the weak, winter sun fought to break through the low hanging clouds. With the threat of snow on the horizon, Castle was happy to be tucked inside his home. Now if only he could stay there.

He turned his gaze to the bedroom where Beckett still lay sound asleep. Thankfully an early morning homicide hadn't pulled them out of bed in the middle of the night, but with Becket on duty today, the luxury of lounging around inside would have to wait for another day.

Castle reached his arms up, feeling his body protest as he leaned forward to stretch out his back. Sometimes he worried that his age was starting to show. It took him a lot longer to recover from an all-nighter at the precinct, or an all-nighter with Kate for that matter, than any all-nighter he used to pull writing his first few novels. He liked to tell himself any man would need a while to recover from a night with Kate Becket, but his stiff, aching body was starting to tell a different tale. Maybe it was time for him to get back to the gym.

As he leaned into the refrigerator to pull out the makings of an omelet he heard faint footsteps echo into the kitchen. Imagining a sleepy Kate stumbling in still donning her pajama short shorts and slippers made him smile.

"So what will it be this morning, breakfast in bed or we could just go back to bed and," Castle spun around with a cheesy grin plastered across his face that quickly changed to mortified when he saw the woman standing before him in the kitchen.

"And good morning mother." Caste leaned casually into the counter in an attempt to look as nonchalant as possible. He needed a stance that read 'I didn't just ask my own mother to go to bed with me.' Martha Rodgers either hadn't heard him or was unfazed by his admission.

"Assuming chocolate, marshmallows, or any kind of gummy candy is not on a the ingredient list count me in" she countered. Martha plopped down on one of the bar stools as her son resumed rummaging through the fridge.

"I'm pretty sure I was banned from making creative breakfast entrees after the smorelett incident of 2012. Or was it the hash brownie incident? I still stand by my brownie and hash browns mash-up. I just think some of us have more refined pallets than others."

"You call it refined; I call it the pallet of a 5-year-old." Martha pushed back in her seat and held her hands up in a 'just-saying' gesture. As much as she enjoyed showing her son her love and support over the years, she treasured these lighthearted moments where she could tease him a little.

Castle picked up a tomato off the counter and held it out to her. "You like tomato. I like tomahto."

"Potato, potahto. Tomato, tomahto. Let's call the whole thing off," Martha belted out. She might be teaching acting now, but that didn't mean she didn't use any opportunity available for an impromptu performance.

"Aren't you up awful early for a Friday? Castle asked hoping to avoid his mother's rendition of the rest of the song. "And what's with the suitcase?" He nodded toward the bag sitting at the base of the stairs. "Secret weekend getaway?"

"I'm up awful early for any day of the week," Martha sighed "but I promised Alexis I would take the train with her to Philadelphia. She wants to attend a talk by some hot-shot biochemist at the University of Pennsylvania this afternoon and we thought it would be fun to turn it into a girls' weekend."

This was the first Castle was hearing about any of this. "She didn't mention to me that she was going to Philly." Castle looked genuinely hurt by the omission.

"Darling you seem to keep forgetting that she's not 15 anymore. Not to mention you two still haven't completely mended the bridges since the whole thing with Pi." At the mention of his name Castle's face scrunched up in disgust. "Right there, Richard," she continued pointing at his face. "Reactions like that aren't helping anything. Whether you like the guy or not, Alexis does. You just have to let this play its course."

"That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it," Castle whined.

"If you want Alexis to keep you updated on trips to Philly then yes you do. Or at least not be so disgusted by it." Castle knew his mom was right. But he wasn't about to admit that out loud. "So moving on to a happier topic," Martha continued "have you and Katherine set a date yet?"

Castle quickly busied himself with whisking eggs and chopping up onions. If there was one topic he liked to discuss least of all with his mother, it was wedding planning. It wasn't that he disliked thinking about his impending wedding; it was quite the opposite actually. When he was by himself he thought about it all the time. About what Kate would look like in her dress. About smashing cake into face and then playfully wiping it off. He was constantly daydreaming about their first kiss as husband and wife, and when no one was looking he would close his eyes and sway back and forth. He imagined holding her close, the touch of her soft skin under his hands as they glided across the dance floor, the rest of the room fading into the background.

It was talking about it with his mother that made him uneasy. As much as he appreciated her enthusiasm he couldn't help but worry that she would silently be making comparisons between this wedding and this marriage and his other two. The thought filled him with shame.

When Castle didn't respond Martha pressed on. "The reason I ask is because I have an acquaintance, well she's really more of a good friend, whose business is to plan weddings. I ran into her the other day and mentioned you were getting married and she told me I had to beg you to let her plan your wedding. She's done all sorts of celebrity couples' weddings, and while I know you don't technically have the same celebrity status as some of her other clients…," she emphasized the word "technically."

"Okay, okay," Castle interrupted. "If this is your sales pitch you better stick to acting." He reluctantly pushed a fluffy veggie omelet across the counter. "I don't know. I mean I don't think Beckett would really be into the whole planner thing."

"What wouldn't I be into?" Beckett walked into the kitchen, her interest piqued at the mention of her name.

"Omelet?" Castle waved the spatula at the frying pan on the stove. He really hoped his mom would just drop the subject.

"Oh Katherine darling, come sit down next to me." Martha tapped the seat next to her. Kate walked over to the chair, her eyes fixed on Castle who was pretending to be occupied by rolling an onion back and forth between his hands. "I was just telling Richard about my wedding planner friend. Her name is Sandy. She plans the most exquisite weddings. Anything you want, she can make it happen." Martha's eyes momentarily shifted out of focus and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Kate could only imagine what sort of elaborate scene was playing out in Castle's mom's imagination. "Now I know how busy you are at work so I thought this might be the perfect opportunity to relieve some of the stress of planning. What do you say?"

"Oh gee Martha. I…" Beckett dragged out the 'I' as her gaze shifted between Castle and his mom. She was stalling, and it she wasn't even being coy about it. Castle had moved on to cracking eggs into the pan, pretending he wasn't party to the conversation. It was moments like these when she really wished they were on the same page with all this wedding stuff, but they had barely talked about it since he proposed that day on the swings. Enjoying the engagement was one thing; being in denial that an engagement ultimately led to a wedding was another.

"You know Rick and I haven't actually discussed much about the wedding yet. Do you think it's a little premature to be meeting with a planner?"

"Richard?" Martha looked to her son hoping she could use her mother's guilt to sway his opinion.

Castle looked up from the stove. "I'm going to have to go with what she said."

Martha threw up her arms in exasperation. "You two don't plan on letting this engagement drag out as long as your courtship now do you?" If anyone was going to get right to the point of the matter it was Martha Rodgers. Whether she would do it tactfully was another story. "You two are perfect for each other. I see it. You see it. Hell everyone around you sees it." Her voice took on a softer tone as she leaned forward placing one hand on her son's hand and another on Kate's arm. "Call me a romantic, but I just want to see the happily ever after already."

"You know Castle it couldn't hurt to at least get some ideas," Becket proposed. She saw a glimmer of hope flicker in Martha's eyes and felt her grip tighten around her arm. "Maybe it will be good to get the ball rolling on this."

If Castle had a soft spot for anything it was for the people he loved. Alexis. His mom. Kate. He could tell how excited his mom was at the prospect of the wedding. How much it would mean to her to see her son happily married. He could also sense how reluctant Beckett was at the idea of meeting the wedding planner. But why wouldn't she be. They really hadn't said much about the upcoming event. An off-the-wall joke, a casual innuendo when a homicide happened to drag them into a church, but nothing serious. Despite all her reservations though, here she was agreeing to the meeting to make his own mom happy. He didn't think it was possible to love her anymore than he already did, but everyday she surprised him.

"You're right. Let's schedule the meeting," Castle agreed.

"Well alright then, it's settled!" Martha exclaimed. She ran over to the couch to retrieve her purse and pulled out a business card. "Here's her card. "Sandy Schulman. Elite Events. She'll be expecting your call." Martha grabbed her suitcase and wheeled it over to the door. "I've got to run you two. I'll be back on Sunday." Just as she was about to shut the door behind her Castle yelled out.

"Wait. What do you mean she is expecting our call. You didn't te-"

"Sometimes mother knows best," Martha interrupted him as she pulled the door closed behind her.

"Mother. Mother. We're not done here," Castle shouted at the closed door. He knew she couldn't hear him, but his dramatics were for Beckett and himself as much as for his mom.

With the loft to themselves, Castle walked around the counter to where Kate was still settled on the chair. He loved the way she looked first thing in the morning. Her hair slightly frazzled. Her face untouched by any makeup. She had a relaxed posture that disappeared the moment she walked into the precinct or onto a crime scene. This first-thing-in-the-morning Kate seemed carefree and unburdened. He wished there was something he could do so that she would always feel this way.

Castle leaned into her back, wrapped his arms around her torso and rested his chin on her shoulder. He felt her lean back against his body and for that moment everything felt right. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "I know going to see," he grabbed the business card off the counter, "Sandy Schulman isn't really your idea of a good time, but I appreciate that you want to make my mom happy."

Beckett wriggled to loosen his grip and spun around on the stool to face him. She smiled up at him and leaned in to gently kiss his lips. "And I would like to eventually get married," she added as he leaned down to place another kiss on her forehead. In the moment of silence that followed all sorts of questions started to percolate in Beckett's head. Why hadn't they talked much about the wedding? Was this indicative of some sort of hesitation on Castle's part? Was he just bored with the idea of a wedding given his two previous marriages? Why must she read into everything regarding the two of them? This second-guessing, this reading too much into things, it wasn't her. She was all about letting the facts speak for the themselves. So why was she ignoring them now?

"What's on your mind?" Castle asked, sensing the wheels turning in Beckett's brain.

Beckett thought for a moment about how she wanted to respond. They were supposed to be an open book now, what after the DC interview debacle, the I know you said I love you mishap, and all the other secrets they kept from each other over the years. But she didn't want to make an issue out of a non-issue. "It's nothing, really," she mustered.

"Clearly there's something up. Let me guess." Castle paused and raise his hand to his chin, stroking an imaginary beard like he was deep in thought. "I got it. You're mad I stole the covers last night and took up more than the normal 20% of the bed I'm allotted?" He looked at her playfully like he was mock interrogating a suspect. Beckett brought a hand to her mouth trying to conceal the smile that was threatening to give away her amusement. "No. That's not it. I know. You've decided that you hate all the artwork in the loft and want to replace every last piece with white boards so that you can work from home? You know Lioness still hasn't quite adjusted to his new vantage point in my office."

"Yes, but I've adjusted wonderfully to him not glaring at me while I sleep." Castle wrapped his hands around hers and wiped the class-clown smile from his face.

"Seriously Kate, you know you can tell me anything." Becket thought for a moment about how to best word her concerns, but before she could come up with anything they just came spilling out.

"I guess I'm just worried that the reason we haven't started planning the wedding yet is because you're having second thoughts. Or because you've been there done that and it's old news." Beckett couldn't believe she had just said that out loud. Giving voice to her fears just highlighted how incredible ridiculous they were. She couldn't bring herself to look into Castle's eyes.

Castle stood there, his hands still wrapped around hers, feeling the blow of what she just admitted. He felt awful that something he did, or didn't do for that matter, had made Becket question his intentions. Him not wanting to marry her. The idea was so far-fetched he almost laughed. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to marry her. To be her one-and-done. He wondered how long she had been worrying. How long had she been too afraid to say anything? It broke his heart thinking about it.

"Kate look at me." He waited for her to meet his eyes. He could see her muscles tense slightly like she was about to get hit with bad news.

"Castle I know it sounds silly. Let's just forget it."

"No. I need to tell you this. When I proposed to you I told you I wanted more. More commitment. More communication. More passion. More romance. More time. Even more struggles and arguments if that's what it took. I just wanted more of us. And the thing is, I love you so much, that there will never be enough "more" for me. Kate I can't imagine how I've lived this long without you in my life. I've never been with someone before that has simultaneously made me feel so complete yet so wanting that all I can think about is more." He paused for a moment to see if his words were sinking in.

Beckett sat there, trying to make something, anything come out of her mouth, but she was overwhelmed with feelings of love.

Castle continued. "What I'm really trying to say is that almost every thought I've had since I placed that ring on your finger has been about the day I can finally call you my wife." He exhaled deeply, feeling relieved to have cleared some of the confusion, but then realized that was only half of what needed to be said. "But I've been keeping my own kind of secret." Beckett shifted uncomfortably, but held her gaze.

"Go on."

"I've been terrified to bring it up because I thought if you saw how excited I was, it might scare you. Or worse, you might start making comparisons of your own between us and my previous relationships. And to imagine you doing either of those things, to imagine you feeling like you don't stack up, like you're my consolation prize…," Castle trailed off. He couldn't look at her anymore. He was too afraid to see a glimmer of agreement in her eyes.

Kate reached out and cupped his cheek with her palm. She pushed the stool back and stood up on her tip-toes so that they were almost eye-to-eye. Castle looked like he was about to cry and seeing him this upset made her throat tighten up. She leaned toward him, desperately pushing her lips against his, trying to keep the tears at bay. When they finally separated, she leaned her forehead against his; her breath hot and punctuated against his cheek. Being this close to him was sedative. Her breath evened out. Her heart stopped pounding, trying to escape her ribs. She was the first to break the silence.

"Castle do you remember when we were in the Hamptons that first time? You were giving me a tour of the house, and I told you I couldn't help but wonder how many women had gotten that same tour before. What did you tell me?"

A look of understanding spread across his face. "I told you that none of them were you."

"I haven't forgotten that." Castle could feel his whole body relax. Like a person geared up to fight or flight, adrenaline pumping, he didn't realize how tense he was until the danger was gone. For a moment they stood there in the kitchen, arms twined around each other, matching each other breath for breath.

"Do you smell that?" asked Kate, pushing away from his embrace. Castle was momentarily confused.

"What? I don't smell…" Castle remembered the omelet he had started cooking in the skillet. Oh God, how long had it been cooking? He sprinted to the stove, yanked the pan off and then searched around frantically for the spatula. Not being able to find it, he tried shaking the scorched contents into the sink. When that didn't work he gingerly poked at it with his finger, trying to loosen the black crisp from the bottom of the pan. "Hot, hot, hot, oh fuck that's hot." He waved his hand through the air and, giving up on trying to remove the omelet from the pan, opted to dump the entire thing in the sink and turn the water on. Smoke billowed up and filled the air around his head.

Beckett stood off to the side, feeling like a spectator to some new form of interpretive dance. She desperately tried to suppress her giggling, but the harder she tried the more it turned into a full on belly laugh. Castle spun around toward her doing his best to feign offense at her amusement.

"You could have tried to help you know," a boyish smile already tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"And miss that performance. I don't think so," she said through fits of laughter. At that moment Beckett's phone buzzed at her from the countertop. She picked it up and glanced at the message. "There's been a murder."

"We'll that's a buzz kill." Beckett rolled her eyes at him, but silently appreciated the levity he brought to the news. There would be plenty of time for seriousness once she walked onto the scene.

"Why don't we go get ready." Beckett said walking toward the bedroom. She paused just before disappearing behind the wall. "Oh and Castle, you're welcome to have at that omelet but I'm going to stop and get breakfast on the way." Castle smiled, enjoying his last moment of first-thing-in-the-morning Becket, before he headed off to join her in the bedroom.

**This will be a multi-chapter story so stay tuned for much much more! Hope you all survive the long hiatus between now and January 6th. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thanks so much for the feedback from Chapter 1. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I don't own the Castle characters (is it required to say this because it seems everyone does), but if I did there would be a lot more romance and snark and a lot less procedural mumbo jumbo. Enjoy!**

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Beckett turned the black Crown Vic left onto Canal Street toward Lafayette. With less than a half mile drive to the scene of the crime she contemplated walking, but quickly changed her mind the moment the stinging winter air hit her skin. Out on the sidewalk, men and women in business suits heading into work sped past sequin and stiletto clad young couples stumbling home to their beds.

Inside the warm car, Castle sat in the passenger seat alternating between fiddling with the radio and spreading cream cheese onto her bagel. She wished he'd do more spreading and less fiddling; her stomach was starting to complain loudly.

"So what do you think the perfect date would be?" Castle asked as he handed her half of the bagel. Beckett turned her attention from a young woman who was comically limping down the street, a broken heel hanging off the end of her pump.

"I don't know. Dinner somewhere intimate. Maybe a stroll through the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I had a lot of fun last weekend, and we didn't even manage to leave the loft." She bit her lower lip and glanced at him sideways, a big, mischievous smile plastered on her face.

"While I wholeheartedly agree and you're welcome," Castle said mirroring her smile, "I was actually referring to wedding dates. I know I said we should plan the whole honeymoon thing first, but I've only been able to come up with one other possible ex-wife free destination." Castle's eyes lit up as he leaned in to announce his suggestion.

"Castle if you say outer space I'm turning the car around and taking you back to the loft." Beckett narrowed her eyes at him and a guilty smile spread across his face. Hoping to avoid a Becket eye-roll, he quickly replaced the grin with a look of indifference.

"Yea, never mind. Still brainstorming." He hunched over pretending to be hurt by her rebuke. Although I still think that space—"

"Is a terrible idea," Beckett cut him off.

"All I'm saying is that you haven't fully considered the benefits."

"Ah, do tell. Nausea? Space suits instead of bikinis? Slurping cocktails out of air tight pouches? A five by five foot box instead of the honeymoon suite at the Four Seasons. Yea, I think I've considered the benefits."

"I was thinking more along the lines of zero-G love making."

"Castle, I can promise you one thing. The last thing you will be wishing on our honeymoon is for the sex to be even more exciting." Castle drew the picture in his mind and his eyes widened. Beckett asked him a question but he just sat there staring distractedly out the front window, his imagination running wild.

"Uh Castle. Earth to Castle." Beckett picked up her cell phone and held it like she was talking into a radio. "Castle this is mission control. We're going to need you to get your mind out of the gutter and return to the car. We're approaching crime scene impact in 5, 4, 3…" Becket pulled the car to a stop along the curb in front of a 24-hour pharmacy. The blinking neon sign snapped Castle back to reality.

"Did you say something?" Castle asked, his full attention restored.

"I just said promise me we'll pick this conversation up later," Beckett urged. Castle reached across the gear shift and gently laid his hand over hers. For a moment, the outside world faded away and it was just her and Castle.

"Promise." He softly squeezed her hand letting her know he meant it. He learned long ago just how powerful a small brush of his thumb against her cheek, an embrace, even a handshake could be with the right intention behind it.

Stepping out of the car Beckett pulled her tan Burberry jacket tightly around her. Every time she wore the coat she felt a pang of guilt at just how much money she spent on it, but in a field typically dominated by men, she told herself, sometimes wearing the clothes that make you feel the part is worth the expense.

Before going any farther she took a moment to survey the scene. The yellow crime scene tape was already set up around the alleyway entrance just to the left of the pharmacy. Flashing lights from a couple other squad cars and a lone ambulance already on the scene cast blue and red light on the side of an office building just ahead. An angry delivery truck driver was arguing with an officer, wildly gesturing at the curb. Watching the scene unfold made Becket happy she was long past her uniformed days. Another officer was directing curious pedestrians to the far side of the sidewalk, and a small gathering of nosy onlookers, cell phone cameras at the ready, stood just outside the police line.

Castle walked ahead of her and, like a gentleman holding open the door, lifted the yellow tape for her to duck under. She spotted Esposito first, hunched down next to the victim, jotting something on a notepad. Lanie was behind him pointing to something on the victim's head. From this distance, she couldn't hear what they were saying but their facial expressions let her know it wasn't pretty. Was it ever? In the background a team of forensics scurried about snapping photographs, dusting for prints, and wading through the dumpster at the end of the alley.

"And look who decided to finally show up for work," Espo teased looking up from the body. "Why is it that I'm always here before you, but still get stuck with most of the grunt work?"

"Hey you try showing up early when you're with Mr. Primp and Preen over here." She cocked her head toward Castle. "Those designer button-up shirts take time."

"Yea dude, what is up with you and the button ups?" Esposito stood up and reached out to smooth down Castle's collar. He playfully elbowed him in the ribs and continued, "All I'm saying is a nice sweater, a form-fitting t-shirt, might save you a lot of time trying to maneuver those tiny buttons with your freakishly large man hands."

"Hey, I'll have you know it's not easy looking this good, and since when are you one to complain about my ruggedly handsome appearance?" He focused his gaze on Beckett who just shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Lanie kept her focus on the body, not in the mood to get involved in their ragging.

"Speaking of showing up early," said Becket, "where's Ryan? He'd normally be here by now."

"Ultrasound appointment with Jenny," Esposito spoke up. "I guess their finding out the sex of the baby today. He should be at the precinct by the time we get in."

"Wait there finding out the sex of the baby today and nobody told me," Castle griped. "That only gives me a couple hours to start a betting pool. I call boy."

"Nah man, girl for sure. Ryan is going to have a daddy's little girl," added Esposito. "Beckett what do you think?"

"I think it'd be a better use of our time to focus on our victim here," she said redirecting their attention. As much as Beckett was keenly aware of the emotional distancing necessary to do the job for this long, she still felt the weight of her responsibility to bring justice to the victim. "What do we know so far Espo?"

"Victim is female, mid-20s, dressed like she was out for the evening." Beckett surveyed the low-cut, metallic cocktail dress and the flashy diamond pendant hanging from her neck. She might almost be mistaken for an overzealous partier who crashed on the way home if it weren't for the blood pooling around her head. "The manager of the pharmacy found her around 6:00 this morning when he went to take the garbage out."

"Do we know the cause of death?" Beckett asked, staring at the large gash on the side of the woman's head. She always found it best to never assume the obvious. Assumptions all too easily led to critical oversights.

Hearing her cue, Lanie piped up. "I'll have to wait until I get her back to the morgue to know for sure but it looks like she was killed by a blunt force trauma to the back of the head." Lanie gently picked up the woman's head and turned it to the side revealing a caved-in portion of her skull.

"Do we know what she was hit with?" Castle asked. Lanie motioned toward a large broken bottle laying a couple feet away from the body.

"I'm still waiting for forensics to bag it for me, but based on the blood spatter on the bottle and the shape of the indentation on the victim's head I'd guess that." Castle crouched down next to the bottle, craning his neck to get a better look at its underside.

"Hey guys, this isn't just any bottle," Castle observed, the excitement in his voice getting the attention of the others. Beckett dropped to a squat next to him to get a closer look. "The black bottle. The silver label. And then there's this," Castle pointed to a jewel set on the bottle's front. He looked from Beckett to Esposito to Lanie like the answer should be obvious. "Oh come on, am I the only one who keeps up on pop culture and current events?" He was met with blank stares all around. "You are looking at a bottle of Gout de Diamants, the most expensive bottle of champagne made, ever." Castle looked at the bottle like he was seeing one of the seven wonders of the world.

"So what are we talking about, two, three hundred dollars?" Esposito asked, confused by Castle's reverie.

"Try more like two million dollars a bottle," Castle marveled. Esposito did a double take of the bottle. "See that diamond right there? 19 carats. And the name plate. 18 carat white gold. Forget the actual champagne in the bottle, it's the bottle itself that sells. This has got to be the most expensive murder weapon ever." Castle's face lit up like a kid on Christmas.

"If we have the murder weapon maybe we'll get lucky and get some prints," Becket said, looking hopefully at the bottle.

"Doubt that," continued Lanie "notice what's missing?" Beckett scanned the bottle, but it didn't take more than a second for her to see it.

"The neck and top of the bottle are gone."

"Unis have canvassed the whole alleyway and are working on the dumpsters a few blocks each way, but I'm guessing whoever did this took it with them to cover their tracks," Esposito added.

"Do we have an ID on the victim yet?" Beckett asked Esposito.

"Negative. No wallet. No ID. No purse or jacket even. Maybe a mugging gone terribly wrong?"

"How do you explain the two million dollar bottle of champagne then?" asked Castle. "You'd think if it was money the murderer was after they wouldn't toss a bottle encrusted with a 19 carat diamond to the ground."

"They might not have realized the value," proposed Beckett. "More importantly though, where did the bottle even come from? My guess is the victim was carrying it because the attacker would have taken off with it if he knew its value. But who carries something that valuable down the street in the middle of the night anyway? Do we have an estimated time of death?"

"Based on body temp and lividity I'd say we're looking at anywhere from one to three am. But again, I'll know more—"

"When you get her back to the morgue," interjected Beckett finishing Lanie's sentence. She had been in this same spot so many times, asking the important questions, directing the investigation that it should all feel routine by now. But it never did. She knew there would be family and friends to inform, and for their sake, she always did her best to view each case with fresh eyes. Sensing the importance of expediency she barreled forward. "Okay, let's get a couple unis to check with the other shop owners around here. See if they saw anything." She craned her neck up to look at the towering building across the street. "Let's also get someone to do a door-to-door with all those apartments facing the street." She pointed to the hundred or so windows frosted over by the cold air. "Maybe someone was up burning the midnight oil. Espo, when you get back to the precinct ask Ryan to track down any surveillance cameras within a few block radius." Beckett felt like she was on cruise control, mechanically doling out tasks, when she heard Castle mumble something off to the side.

He was standing over the victim, intently analyzing the girl's face. "Guys, I think I know who the victim is." Beckett's brain shifted out of cruise control and she focused all her attention on Castle. "I didn't make the connection until just now. The Gout de Diamants. The young blonde dressed up for a night on the town. This is Caitlyn Madison."

"Who?" Esposito asked sheepishly, unsure of whether he should be able to place the name. Castle looked up and was again met with blank stares all around.

"Really, guys? Really?" Castle was secretly pleased he was the only one able to place the victim. "And you wonder why you keep me around. I'm starting to think I should ask for a consulting fee."

"Castle?" Beckett decided to squelch his bragging before it got out of hand. "The victim?"

"Right." He went on to tell them all he knew. Caitlyn Madison was a girlfriend of one of New York's most infamous playboys, Daniel Henry. He made a fortune opening high-end night clubs all over the country, but his flagship club, Club Couture, was here in New York, just a block down from where they were standing. Just last month they held a launch party for the pricy champagne since they were one of only two clubs in the US that were selling it. "Side note, I actually got invited to that party," he bragged.

"Castle." Beckett narrowed her eyes at him.

"Hey, I would have asked you to go but we were both a little preoccupied at the time, you know, being trapped inside that creepy old crypt. I still say finders keepers on those coins." Beckett intensified her glare but couldn't hold it for long as amusing memories of Castle pretending to get his hand stuck in the wall flashed through her mind.

Castle leaned in a little closer to the victim's face. "Yea, that's definitely her. She came with Daniel to my launch party for Deadly Heat. Smart, funny girl. Seemed a lot brighter than his other girlfriends."

"Other girlfriends?" Esposito said in disbelief, cocking his eyebrows. "Man you weren't joking when you said playboy. You friends with the guy or something?"

Castle thought carefully before answering. "Let's just say he and I were fairly chummy back in my younger days." He glanced over at Beckett to gauge her reaction. Her expression didn't give away anything. "My much younger days."

With more facts on the table Beckett shifted back into auto-pilot. "Okay Espo, head on down to the club and get a list of anyone who was working last night. Bartenders, the door man, security. I want to know if they noticed anything unusual. Also make sure to get any footage you can from the club security cameras. Castle and I will head into the precinct and contact Caitlyn's family and Mr. Henry."

With each of them assigned a task, Castle and Beckett headed back toward the car, leaving the flashes of forensic cameras in the shadows of the alleyway. The chaos that Beckett often felt upon approaching a crime scene was replaced with a zen-like focus now that she had a lead to follow and her victim had a name. As she crossed back over the police tape onto the pedestrian-ridden sidewalk she took a deep calming breath, now feeling invigorated by the cold air.

"So apparently we get invited to parties that I don't know about," she chided, slipping into the driver's seat.

"I never said _we_ got invited anywhere. I believe I said _I_ got invited. Besides I didn't think the night club scene was really your thing."

"Like you said, in my younger days." She purposefully remained vague. She learned a long time ago that letting him insinuate her meaning was much more fun, and led to much more colorful stories, than the reality. "I think it could be fun though. Have some drinks. Some dancing. I still have some moves even you'd be surprised to see." Beckett watched Castle drift off into his imagination again. He was too easy. "Speaking of dancing. I already have a great first dance song picked out." She shifted the car into drive and eased the nose out into the heavier 9:00 traffic.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh. Let me guess."

"Castle I can just tell you."

"Where's the fun in that?" Years of board game nights and laser tag matches with Alexis had taught him that anything could be turned into a game. "I know. Twenty questions. Yes and no answers only. If you stump me, we go with your pick. If I get it, you agree to dance lessons and learning a choreographed dance for the wedding. I'm thinking tango. What do you say?" Beckett knew resistance would only encourage him more.

"Fine. But with one exception. If you don't guess it and we have to do a dance, I get to pick the style."

"It's a deal." Castle reached back across the gear shift and grabbed her hand, settling into the same position as before they got out.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The flu is not conducive to writing, although neither is a 1-year-old, and I never let that stop me.**

* * *

"It just doesn't make any sense." Becket stared down the murder board, eyes jumping between the DMV photo of Caitlyn Madison and a picture of the two million dollar, busted up bottle of champagne. It was already late afternoon and all she had to show for it was a few unreturned phone calls.

"Does it ever make sense this early on?" pointed out Castle, handing her a steaming cup of espresso. She looked down to see what, if any, artistic creation he had infused into the foamy surface. It was becoming such a regular occurrence that it now only took about three minutes from the time he headed toward the break room to the time he placed the cup in her hand.

Slight disappointment spread across her face. "No hearts today?" She did her best to look genuinely hurt, but the ridiculousness of it all, being saddened by a missing heart, or flower, or panda bear in her coffee, made the pout hard to maintain.

"Oh look, it's there," Castle mused bringing his own hot drink up to his lips. Becket stared down into the cup, squinting her eyes, trying to conjure up an image as if she were looking at one of those hidden picture games. What were those called?

"It's not a stereogram you know. Squinting isn't going to make the picture come into focus." Of course he would know what it was called, Beckett thought. Castle leaned back against the desk looking as smug as ever.

"Then do tell," appealed Beckett, tilting the cup toward him in frustration. He snatched the cup and beckoned for her to scoot even closer to him along the desk, his nose inches from the surface of the drink, a master artist examining his work.

Pointing at the foam he began, "See that faint curve of espresso there? And the way the foam billows up over here?" Beckett scooted even closer until her thigh pressed against his; she inched her nose up to the rim of the cup. She still couldn't see anything. Castle let the silence build suspense, waiting until he saw Beckett about to throw in the towel and insist they get back to work. "Ready for it?" he asked.

"Yes. Can you just tell me already so we can get back—"

"Snowman in a blizzard." He tried to hold back a laugh. "Albeit a slightly dirty snowman in a blizzard, what with the espresso and everything."

"Seriously Castle, are we in second grade?" she laughed while trying to rebuke him. He could get away with so much because of his charm. Boy was she in trouble if they happened to have kids that took after their father, she thought, picturing little brown haired, blue eyed toddlers spinning theories as to why eating dessert before dinner was a good idea or why they thought it would be fun to put the pet turtle in the toilet. 'He just wanted to go swimming,' she could almost hear them say as a distraught turtle desperately tried climbing up the side of the bowl.

The phone rang and her mind was back in the precinct.

"Was that Esposito?" Castle asked as she set the handset back on the base.

"Yea. Canvas didn't turn up the missing bottle top."

"Which we expected," Castle interjected, hating to watch the frustration play out across her face.

"Ryan is out there with him. They got a list of all the employees working last night and actually talked with the door man who was on duty. Get this," she placed her hand on her hip and leaned forward, a sign that what she was about to say offered hope, "the doorman said Caitlyn left the club around one, but she was supposed to be there until three. They had some elite clients they were entertaining and Daniel always makes sure at least a couple of his girls are on sight to woo."

"By 'woo' I assume he meant make sure they pull out their wallets. Does the doorman know why she left?"

"No, but he did say she looked frazzled. The guys are bringing back security footage to go over to verify, but that account does match our time of death. And," she took a couple steps forward and leaned in close, relishing in the reveal, "CSU didn't come up completely empty handed. Along with a lot of mismatched prints from work books and sneakers in that alleyway, they also found fresh prints from, get this, two sets of high heals." She had a huge grin plastered across her face. To an outsider she probably looked like she just found out some life-changing news—a multimillion dollar inheritance, a job promotion—not a small piece of evidence in a murder investigation.

All around them the bullpen buzzed with movement, like it too was caught up in the excitement of the new information. "Two prints? Ah, a tale as old as time. Boy meets girl. They fall in love. Boy meets another girl; they also fall in love, and poof, someone winds up dead." Castle snatched the pictures of Daniel's two other girlfriends off Beckett's desk and stuck them to the board, listening for the satisfying click as the magnets collided.

"Only problem with that scenario is that this isn't a case of secret romances. All his girlfriends new what they were getting into when they started dating him."

"That doesn't mean jealousy can't rear it's ugly, potentially murderous head," Castle added, his gaze lingering on the two new pictures.

"Beckett?" Captain Gates popped her head out of her office, signaling toward the lounge. "Caitlyn's mom is here."

* * *

Victoria Madison slumped down into the black, faux leather couch, tracing the seams with her fingers. Her face was red and puffy, the product of spending the entire cab ride into the 12th precinct trying to hold back tears.

Castle and Beckett took their respective places in the room—Beckett in the green armchair cattycorner the couch and Castle directly across from the grieving woman. This part never got any easier. Beckett looked at the sadness and shock etched into the woman's face, and in that moment she was transported back to the cold, winter day in 1999, when she herself sat opposite a NYC homicide detective fielding questions about her mom. The disbelief, the feelings of injustice, the self-blame, the silent plea to God that you'll do anything to have that person back, all the raw emotions playing out across the woman's face were easily recognized by Beckett because she had been there too. It was a level of empathy she wished she didn't know.

Her gut told her Victoria Madison didn't have anything to do with her daughter's murder, but procedure dictated that everyone was a suspect. "I'm so sorry for your loss Mrs. Madison," she began, knowing that the words sounded hollow and too customary to be of any real comfort.

"Caitlyn was such a good girl," the older woman offered, choking back a sob. Castle extended the box of tissues and she pulled a couple out, wringing them in her hands instead of wiping away the tear streaming down her cheek. Beckett decided the best course of action was to press on so the woman could leave.

"Do you know if there was anything going on in your daughter's life that was troubling her?" Beckett asked, the question purposefully vague so as to not lead her.

"Nothing." The response was almost immediate. "I talked to her about a week ago. She seemed so happy, going on about some trip her and girls were going to take next month."

"By girls do you mean Daniel's two other girlfriends?" Castle asked tentatively, worried he might be touching on a sensitive topic.

"Yea. Samantha and Jennifer." She looked down at her tattered tissues and tucked them into her jacket pocket. "I know what you're thinking. It's what everyone thinks. That there must be some sort of tension with three girls dating one guy, but it wasn't like that at all."

"I take it you were okay with their situation?" Castle pressed

"Of course I was. I saw the opportunities that were opening up for her. Dating Daniel was just a career move for Caitlyn—for the other girls too I think. Daniel has connections in the modeling and entertainment industry. A lot of his former girlfriends end up making it big." Her voice took on a softer tone as she continued. "My baby wanted to be a runway model, in fact, it's all she ever talked about growing up. She begged me to take her to Paris for fashion week when she was ten. Told me it could be her Birthday and Christmas presents for the next hundred years. I was a single mom though, barely making rent for our one-bedroom apartment in Queens. I ended up buying her a cheap pair of dress-up high heels for her Birthday that year so she could practice her walk. I told her we'd make it to Paris one day in the future." New tears started streaming down her face again. Beckett didn't have to ask to know that they had never made it to Paris.

Beckett paused for a moment, giving the woman the time she needed to calm down, to bring her focus back to the interview. "Mrs. Madison, I hate to ask you this but do you know if Caitlyn had any history with drugs, gambling, any criminal activity—maybe she owed someone money?" She internally recoiled, waiting to see how much offense the mom would take from her question. Like many grief-stricken loved ones she'd interviewed before, Mrs. Madison answered her question calmly, too overwhelmed by the day's events to be phased by the implications.

"None that I was aware of. She was always pretty straight-laced, despite what you would think given her life choices. I think that's why Daniel liked her so much, why they worked so well together. She understood the business side of their relationship. The lifestyle, selling a particular image—it was her job and she treated it as such."

Beckett glanced over at Castle giving him the 'you got anything else you want to ask' look. He shook his head and stood up to leave, Beckett rising with him.

"Thank you Mrs. Madison." She reached out to shake the woman's hand, but instead ended up enclosing it between hers. "I'll contact you as soon as we know anything. And I promise, I will find out who did this to your daughter." It was a promise she didn't take lightly. Giving her victims a voice and bringing closure to the ones left behind—she knew it wouldn't take away the pain, but at least it would hopefully help people like Mrs. Madison to move on and live life. Not become so fixated on getting answers that it consumed everything, the way her mother's murder had done to her.

* * *

"Well that didn't offer any new insights," Castle said, plopping down in his chair next to Beckett's desk. "Just reaffirmed how awful it would be to lose a child." He shuddered, thinking of Alexis.

"This might help though," Ryan chimed in, walking out of the conference room with Esposito on his tail.

"When did you get back?" Castle looked between the two guys, his eyes lighting up as he remembered the ultrasound appointment. "So, will I be buying little pink or little blue onesies for baby Ryan?"

"Neither," he answered emphatically. "Please, no more baby onesies. I swear Jenny could open her own baby clothing store with how many we have spilling out of every drawer and closet."

"So the adult version then? Matching father/son, father/daughter outfits?" Castle joked. "I saw a really cute Valentine's day one online the other day. A baby cherub on the butt and little hearts covering up—"

"Bro," Esposito grimaced like he had a really bad taste in his mouth. "What you and Beckett do in your private life is not work-appropriate. Heck, it's not anytime appropriate."

Castle raised his hands defensively. "Research. It was just research," he looked over at Beckett, worried he'd be met with a mortified, disapproving glare. Instead, she had a big grin spread across her face, clearly enjoying him trying to explain his way out.

"Yea Castle," Ryan said deciding to get in on the fun, "we knew you were a kid at heart, but this takes the expression 'man-child' to a whole new level." Esposito held up his fist for Ryan to pound it, the two snickering the whole time.

"Okay, ha ha, funny, but it really is just research for my next Nikki Heat novel."

Beckett couldn't resist. "Let me guess. Rook buys Nikki a strategically placed heart onesie for Valentine's Day for some sort of twisted, kinky role-play."

"Woah, Beckett," Esposito whooped, lifting his arm for another fist bump.

"Seriously guys, you're all going to gang up on me? Beckett I expected more from you," he tried to dead-pan, hoping to sound more distraught then he really was. Truth be told, he didn't mind all the teasing. He found out during his first couple years working alongside them that teasing was their way of showing him he belonged, a hazing ritual, a rite-of-passage of sorts.

Beckett lifted her fist to pound it when a shrill voice cut through their laughter.

"What is this I am hearing about adult onesies and role-play?" Captain Gates peeked around the corner, not appearing nearly as amused as them. "Please tell me this is in some way case related." She stared each of them down, waiting for the weak link to spill. There was just silence. "That's what I thought." She turned to head back into her office. "Can we all get back to work then?"

The four of them sat there, eyes averted as they tried not to laugh, feeling like they were grade schoolers being reprimanded for talking during class.

"So boy or girl then?" Castle asked simply in order to avoid another lecture-provoking diversion.

"Jenny wants to be there when we tell everyone so what do you all say to The Old Haunt, as soon as we crack this case?" Everyone agreed.

"So what new insight do you have for us?" Beckett asked, turning her attention to Ryan.

"So I watched the video footage from the club, and just like the door man said, Caitlyn leaves right after one, but, just prior to her leaving she takes a phone call that is clearly upsetting." Ryan led them into the conference room and hit play on the VCR, a clear image of the inside of Club Couture filling the screen. "Right here," he pointed to a tall, blonde woman toward the edge of the shot. "At 12:58, she answers her phone and…" he trailed off letting the video do the talking. Off in the corner of the shot, their victim was wildly pacing the floor, a distinct grimace on her face. "And if we fast forward to just after one." The team watched as a distraught Caitlyn Madison shoved her phone into her purse and stormed out of the club.

"Rewind it for a second," Castle leaned in close to the screen watching the image play back in reverse. "Look at that."

"That looks like our murder weapon," Beckett noted, her eyes fixed on the bottle of champagne Caitlyn held in her hand. "And look at that; she just walks right out the front door with it in her hand."

"Talk about aiding and abetting in your own murder," Castle mused.

"Her purse hasn't turned up yet so we can only assume that the whoever popped her over the head also walked off with the purse," added Esposito. "Seems strange that they would take the purse and not the diamond though."

"Do we know whether Daniel or the other girls were at the club with her that night?" Beckett turned to Ryan and Esposito.

Esposito spoke up. "Both guest list and video footage confirm that only one other girlfriend was there with her." He looked down at his notes. "Jennifer Dobbs. The video shows her still in the club at the time of death. I also spoke with Daniel's publicist. She confirmed Daniel was across town last night prepping for the opening of a new club until early in the morning. All three girlfriends would normally have been at the club but one was home sick—a Samantha Roberts."

"Let's work on getting that alibi confirmed." Beckett seamlessly shifted back into leadership mode. "Also, I want to know who she was talking to right before she left the club. Whoever it was said something that was clearly upsetting." Beckett glanced at her watch; it was already nearing five. When did it get so late? "First thing tomorrow head out to Daniel's place and get statements from both Jennifer and Samantha. See if they can offer any insight into what was going on with Caitlyn. Castle and I will keep trying to track down Daniel and see what he can tell us."

The gang disassembled leaving Castle and Beckett to return to the murder board that was still frustratingly void of details.

"So I've been thinking," Castle said. He paused to look up at the board. Even without him speaking, Beckett could hear his brain churning, sprouting up who-dunnit theories that were more appropriate for science fiction fantasy novels than a real murder case.

"Let's hear it Castle." Crazy or not she still wanted to know his ideas. It was precisely his out of the box thinking that forced her to stay grounded in reason—the Mulder to her Scully.

A playful, devilish grin spread across his face and she knew she was in for a good story—not necessarily helpful insight, but at least entertainment. "Giant, albino alligators."

"What?" She rolled her eyes and sat down in her chair, swiveling it toward the desk. That was even more far-fetched than normal. And that said a lot given that 'normal' involved flesh eating zombies, alien abductions, CIA conspiracies, and time-traveling murderers.

Castle didn't seem bothered by her perfunctory skepticism—hell, he rather enjoyed it—and carried on with his story. "Everyone knows the sewers in New York are teaming with alligators. East Harlem, 1935, city workers pulled an eight-foot long alligator out of a man-hole. Central Park, 2001, police capture an alligator terrorizing park-goers. Brooklyn, 2006, a small alligator is found outside an apartment building hissing at pedestrians. They crawl out of the sewers at night and when you least expect it," he opened his arms up like two giants jaws and snapped them together.

"Castle that's just an urban legend." She didn't want to ask why he could recall so many specific alligator related incidents off the top of his head. "Besides, last time I checked, alligators weren't able to pick up and swing objects at people. How would an alligator manage to hold a champagne bottle?" She was just humoring him now.

"I guess someone has never seen Peter Pan." Castle smiled, feeling confident that he had gotten the last word in.

"That was a crocodile, Castle, not alligator. Maybe if you would have led with the crocodile theory I would have believed you." Her mood shifted from lighthearted to serious as she stared at the telephone on her desk. She had left a message with Daniel Henry's secretary earlier in the day and still hadn't heard back.

"A watched pot never boils you know. I don't think staring at the phone will make it ring any sooner."

"I'm starting to think an impromptu house call is in order," Beckett proposed, not one to normally wait for evidence, or suspects for that matter, to fall into her lap. "I know his secretary was saying he'd be in meetings all day, but you'd think a guy that just found out his girlfriends was brutally murdered would have higher priorities." Beckett scooped up her jacket off the back of her chair and handed it to Castle, a signal for him to help her slide it on.

"I've got an even better idea." Castle took the jacket from her and slid it gracefully over her arms, briefly stopping to flip her hair out from beneath the collar before he continued with his proposal. "A man like Daniel—a man who has built his fortune around conveying a specific image—isn't going to be very forthcoming in an interrogation room. And even if he was, he's not likely to tell you the truth, even about the most benign details if he thinks it will hurt his image." He stopped to assess Beckett's reaction to what he'd said thus far, knowing it was the next part she was likely to resist. So far so good. "I think you'd fare better getting information from him on his own turf—in an environment where he's prone to let his guard down a little.

"Okay, so you're suggesting I go interview him at his club." Beckett looked confused.

"Sort of, just instead of Detective Beckett interviewing a potential suspect it would be more like sexy and single Kate flirting up a guy at the bar." Beckett stopped in front of the elevator and swung around to face him. Her face read indignation, but Castle could tell she was considering the option, weighing its merits.

"Castle, you really think a guy who just lost his girlfriend is even going to be at his club tonight, let alone keen on flirting with anyone?" Castle pulled out his cell phone and opened up his e-mail inbox, holding up the screen for her read. On it contained an e-mail alerting all of Club Couture's elite clientele about an exclusive party the club would be hosting that night to announce expansion plans. At the bottom of the e-mail was written '_Come celebrate in memory of Caitlyn Madison_.' "Wow, that's tacky." Beckett pushed the call button on the elevator, slightly warming up to the idea. If he wasn't afraid to put on a little show than neither would she.

"So that answers your first question." They stepped into the elevator and Castle slid dangerously close to Beckett, his fingers running circles around the back of her hand. "And to answer your other question Kate, 'do I think he'd be keen on flirting with anyone?" He grabbed her hand and pulled her close to him, realigning their bodies so that they were face to face, lips almost touching. " No. But you're not anyone."

The elevator doors opened into the precinct lobby. Castle released her hand and walked out, giving a quick nod to the security officer on duty. Beckett stood there for a moment, enjoying the lingering scent of his cologne, the afterimage of his lips inches from hers, before stepping out to follow Castle into the approaching darkness.

**On the next installment: There will be dancing. There will be flirting. There will be major hiccups in their plans. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N I spent way too much time looking through cocktail dresses online to write this chapter. Now I wish I had a party to go to. Please let me know what you think! Suggestions are welcomed, requested, and appreciated. Is it January 6th yet?**

* * *

Castle leaned back onto the leather sectional, swirling three fingers of scotch around the tumbler—his normal two fingers just wasn't going to cut it tonight. From the moment Beckett had agreed to his undercover scheme, a sense of dread had begun to smolder in the pit of his stomach. He took a long swig of the burning elixir, a last ditch attempt to snuff it out.

It wasn't that he was insecure, Castle told himself, at least not when it came to her feelings for him. It wasn't that he didn't trust Kate's judgment. It was more the idea of watching another man hit on his fiancé that made him recoil with disgust—the lustful stares, the wandering hands, the imaginary thought bubbles he'd be trying to pop all night.

When he first proposed the idea, it included images of secret code names, spy gadgets, and well-fitted tuxedos—the kind where the top button is really a miniature camera and the cuff links can shoot poison darts at will. He tended to forget that real undercover work, at least the kind they could do on the NYC homicide department's budget, looked less like a James Bond movie and more like a low-budget version of Donnie Brasco.

"Are you almost done in there?" he shouted at the bedroom door, clinking an ice-cube around the now empty glass. He resisted the urge to casually walk in and check, relishing the dear-in-headlights feeling he still got every time he laid his eyes on Kate all dressed up. The fact that she wasn't doing it just for him tonight didn't quell the anticipation.

"Yea, just.."

Castle heard a soft thud proceeded by several grunts, a few choice words, and then a sigh of relief. He knew her routine well enough to picture what she was doing—the maneuver involved Kate flinging herself onto the bed, stilettos in hand, and contorting her foot up to her head to slip the shoe on without displacing her dress. The woman had many skills.

"I swear Castle if this is you getting back at me for taking you to that male strip club…" Kate said walking into the living room, a slinky black cocktail dress clinging to her curves. Castle's eyes slowly trailed up her body, and for a moment he was speechless. The eye-catching dress cut off just above her knee, a look that would make most other woman look awkward and squat, but on Kate, it only served to elongate her lower half. Castle imagined running his hands up her legs and circling her waist with his arms, pulling her down on top of him on the couch.

"You look…" Castle tried to stammer out, as his eyes made their way up to her waist and then her chest. The front of the dress swooped down to just between her breasts, revealing enough cleavage to be flirty, but not raunchy.

"What do you think?" She spun around revealing a plunging back and several thin spaghetti straps crisscrossing her torso. The look was topped off by a pair of strappy black stilettos and diamond earrings, the gift Castle had given her last Valentine's Day after having to return the sapphire earrings he accidently slipped to Captain Gates. It was a style that was sexy yet classy, showing off just enough to excite the casual observer but not enough to satisfy their curiosity about what lay underneath.

"You look breathtaking," he finally mustered—an expression especially apt given the way his breathing was coming out in uneven bursts. He pushed off the couch and went to meet her in the center of the room. Standing toe to toe they were almost the same height with her heals. He pushed a soft curl off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.

"You don't look too bad yourself." She met his eyes for a moment only to drop her gaze to her feet; she could feel the heat running up her neck and into her face. It amazed her that after all these years a single touch could still send her system into overdrive—leave her feeling like a love-sick teenager hanging out in the backseat of her boyfriend's car. She reached up and grabbed the lapels on his suit, drawing his body close to hers. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers, coyly biting her lower lip as her eyes darted between the suit and his eyes.

Castle reached up and wrapped his arms around her back, his fingers ghosting over bare skin, leaving goose bumps wherever they touched. She lifted her face up, locking eyes, and he gave her that tender smile—the one that said I love you without any exchange of words, the one that had been speaking to her silently long before she was ready to hear it out loud.

She leaned in to kiss him, softly at first, savoring the way his mouth curled into a smile as their lips touched. He returned her kiss with more urgency, more need, pressing into her harder and deeper. Her hands raised up to cradle his neck, gentle fingers running through his hair turning to desperate grabs as the kissing intensified and the heat from her flushed face headed south.

Castle's hands inched their way around her sides, coming dangerously close to slipping underneath the sheer dress material. Just the thought of his hands on her breasts left her wanting to forget the whole undercover mission and drag him back into the bedroom. Just then his phone vibrated from inside his jacket pocket.

The sudden noise broke the moment and they both pulled away, sucking in a quick breath as the room came back into focus. Beckett wanted to be annoyed at the buzzing device and the person on the sending end, but instead she just laughed. This was their life after all—special moments repeatedly interrupted by a phone call or a text. It was the only time she wished she held a more conventional nine-to-five kind of job.

"It's Alexis," Castle announced, pulling the phone from his pocket. He read the text to her. "Hey dad, made it to Philly. I'll eat a cheese steak for you." Short but promising, Castle thought. He had been wanting to put the past to rest for weeks now, but Alexis was holding a grudge with the same tenacity he'd seen her use only on special occasions—college applications, scooter procurement, and laser tag.

Beckett could see the glimmer of hope in his eyes as he looked down at the phone. "Maybe your mom is working her magic." She had always been fond of Martha and knew that when the woman set her mind to something, it was likely to happen—whether that was building her own acting studio or convincing Alexis to forgive her dad.

Castle typed a return message and tucked the phone back inside his pocket. "Shall we?" He raised his arm for Beckett to grab onto. "I'm worried if we don't leave soon we may never." He threw her a mischievous side-ways glance that she returned with a look of her own. Castle slipped her coat on over the dress, transforming his grin into a playful pout. "Too bad it's not summer, I don't know if I can make it through a whole car ride knowing what's underneath the coat without being able to see it."

Beckett turned to face him. "Just to be clear Castle, once we get in, I don't know you, and you don't know me. Got it? I can't very well seduce another man if you're playing my personal shadow all night. Not to mention, Daniel knows you."

Castle raised his hand and held up his index and middle fingers, his posture straightening. "Scouts honor." Beckett opened the door, feeling relief that he seemed to be taking her request seriously. "But Beckett, just so you know," his voice dropped to a whisper and he leaned in close to her ear. "I never was a boy scout."

Torn between whether to laugh or feign irritation she opted for a good-natured ribbing. "No Castle, I don't think anyone ever suspected you were."

* * *

Club Couture occupied the bottom two floors of an unassuming red-brick high-rise in Lower Manhattan. Like most buildings in New York City, it shared its address with a dozen or so other businesses creating an eclectic, bohemian feel during the day as lawyers in tailor-made suits mingled with track suit wearing music producers. Unlike the majority of Couture's clientele, the exterior exuded a discreet, low-key vibe. If it weren't for the roped off entrance and snaking line of hopeful party-goers, no one would give the building a second glance.

Castle skidded the bright-red Ferrari to a stop curb-side, feeling a personal victory that Beckett had let him drive. He had noticed lately that she had become more comfortable with surrendering control, at least in the four-wheeled sense, and his writer's mind ran wild trying to deduce symbolic meaning from the gesture.

Outside the club, next to the long line of people waiting to get in, a small collection of reporters with news cameras had assembled. "What do think that's all about?" Beckett asked motioning at the cameras. "Coverage for the expansion plan announcement or someone trying to get a sound bite about Caitlyn's death?" In a world where the Wives of Wall Street made the cover of nearly every tabloid, it wasn't surprising that they would be circling to get an exclusive. Beckett could see the cover now—a pixilated picture of Caitlyn partying hard with the headline '_Too Much Play for this Playgirl'. _Speculation of drug overdoses and all-night benders would fly rampant. She was thankful that Captain Gates used discretion when deciding not to release any details to the public about the girl's death.

"I don't know, but if you're wanting to remain below the radar you better let me go in first and you can valet the car as soon as I'm through the door." He handed her the keys. "Wouldn't want you to get caught up in a media frenzy when the press realizes who I am after all," he added, a tinge of mock arrogance in his voice.

In all the years he'd been following her, a run-in with the paparazzi or a devoted Castle book groupie was, much to Castle's dismay, a rare occurrence. Beckett decided to let him have his win, just grateful that it was his connections that would be getting them through the doors tonight.

"Make sure to have them add me to that list." She cocked her head toward a broad-shouldered security officer holding a clip board. "I don't want to get left out with the rest of the riff-raff." She smiled and leaned in to give him a quick peck.

As Castle stepped out of the car, a few small snowflakes began swirling down, peppering iridescent flecks through his brown hair. Beckett watched as he made his way toward the club entrance where, to her surprise, a few reporters flagged him down. Through the foggy window she could see a bleached-blonde woman thrusting a tape recorder in his face. She cracked the window of the Ferrari to try and hear what they were saying.

"Richard. Rick. Mr. Castle," Beckett heard the woman shout. The rest of what she said was lost in the rush of the wind past the window. Something about Page 6 maybe. She couldn't be sure what she heard. She really hoped Caitlyn Madison's photo wasn't spilling all over the cover of that gossip rag.

She looked to Castle's face for any indication of what might have passed between them. She knew under normal circumstances she could trust him not to reveal any details from the investigation, but she didn't want to discount the disinhibiting effects of a swarm of cameras and a pretty blonde who was interested in his opinions.

Instead of stopping to talk with the woman, though, Castle simply smiled, gave a good-natured wave, and continued on into the club. Beckett rolled up the window and stepped out into the bitter cold, waving down a young valet to take the keys. She watched as he politely closed her door, said his habitual 'have a good evening,' and peeled off, completely indifferent to the fact that he was driving a $200,000 sports car. I guess that's what happens when every car that comes through hear is a luxury vehicle Beckett thought.

Thankfully the security officer didn't hassle her at all when she approached the velvet rope blocking the entrance, and a quick duck behind her jacket kept her face shielded from the on looking media. As rare as it was for reporters to flag down Castle for an impromptu interview, it was even rarer for them to peg her as the detective at the center of his novels. But given the nature of their current investigation she didn't want to take any chances. The last thing she needed before heading into seduce Daniel Henry as the flirty and single Kate Beckett was be outed as the lead detective on the murder investigation of his girlfriend.

The first thing she noticed when she walked into the club was the over-the-top opulence seeping out of every corner. Large, crystal laden chandeliers hung from the ceiling casting shimmering rainbows around the room. The walls were plated with alternating gold and silver squares embossed with the club's logo—an intertwining CC in old English font. Subdued spotlights fixed in the corners of the room cast beams of light onto the central dance floor. Surrounding the dance floor were large private booths and smaller cozy nooks that tucked back into the side walls, and along the back wall, bartenders hustled back and forth, their silhouettes backlit by an elaborate ice sculpture.

Scanning the selection of alcohol, Beckett eyes stopped on a flashy display situated on the highest shelf behind the bar. Along with the a half dozen different labels, she spotted a few bottles of the wallet-emptying Gout de Diamants. Talking up the bartender just below the bottles was Castle, already nursing a glass of some amber colored liquid.

As she surveyed the room looking for her target, the booming club music softened and a single beam of light focused on a spot in the dead center of the room. The throng of dancers—mostly models and actors she couldn't quite place—cleared out and a handsome man in his early 60s dressed in an all black suit sauntered into the light. A hushed silence fell over the crowd as everyone turned their attention.

"Friends. Distinguished colleagues," he began, "I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. As most of you have already heard, we gather here tonight under the sad and unfortunate news that my girlfriend, the lovely Caitlyn Madison has passed away." He clasped his hands together in a somber moment of silence. Club guests all around followed suit. "I know it's easy, in times like this, to cower away from the world. To hide out until the pain abates, but that's not what Caitlyn would have wanted." Daniel Henry raised his head, the solemn façade giving way to a festive, cheerful grin. It was like watching a bad performance of Jekyll and Hyde.

A bubbly glass of champagne appeared in his hand and he raised it up in the air. "So in her memory, let's celebrate life," he boomed, and the room erupted into cheers and applause. Beckett watched Daniel make his away across the room to a private corner booth, pleasantly shaking hands and exchanging hugs with a myriad of consoling women who made it a point to stand along his path. Maybe this was going to he harder than she thought.

She scanned the room for his other two girlfriends, recognizable by their DMV photos hanging from her murder board. She finally spotted them mingling with a group of older men just to the side of the dance floor. At least she wouldn't have to contend with them at the moment.

From his vantage point at the bar, Castle watched the scene unfold. Outside of running into Daniel at the Deadly Heat launch party and a few other social events where they exchanged meaningless pleasantries, Castle hadn't been in Daniel's company for over five years, especially not in the current context. He wondered when he had transformed from the wild, yet always tactful playboy he knew into this person that turned his girlfriend's death into a spectacle at a party. He clearly recalled the last conversation he had had with him.

_Daniel Henry leaned across the bar, two cold beers in his hands. "So Ricky, what do you say to a trip to Miami this weekend? I've got the jet fueled up; I could have us there by sundown." He slid one of the bottles toward Castle and walked around the counter to sit next to him on a stool. Even though he was a couple decades his senior, Daniel had a youthful gait and an easygoing attitude that let him fit in with a group of 20-somethings as easily as people his own age. _

_"You know, I don't know if Miami is such a good idea," Castle said taking a swig of the beer, hoping Daniel would just drop it. Recently the club scene just didn't have the same allure to him as it used to—but he really wasn't in the mood to explain his newfound disinterest. _

_"Oh come on," Daniel elbowed him in the side. "I've got a couple fresh pair of legs ready to go." He nodded toward two women sitting at the other end of the bar. Sensing he was talking about them, they looked up and timidly waved. _

_Castle looked over at the two women and waved back, but his enthusiasm for taking random women to bed was gone. Instead of a fun-filled weekend all he could see was a meaningless tryst that would leave him feeling empty and bored._

_"I think I'll have to pass," Castle finally said. Daniel looked disappointed but not defeated._

_"This isn't about that new detective you mentioned, is it? What's her name? Colleen. Kendra. Kayla?"_

_"It's Kate."_

_"Okay, Kate. Whatever—doesn't matter. You're not about to tell me that twice-divorced Richard Castle is getting the love bug again, are you? _

_"It's not like that," Castle interjected. _

_"Good," Daniel said emphatically. "Because I'm pretty sure your first words to me after the last one were 'never again'—in case you forgot."_

_It was true, Castle thought, he had said never again. And he meant it at the time, but there was something about Detective Kate Beckett—something that simultaneously irritated and intrigued him—that made him wonder if his words were premature. It was true he didn't know where things were headed, but he knew he wanted to find out. He had known her for less than a year, but she had a pull on him that no jet-setting Miami fling could come close to resembling. She was indeed extraordinary. _

_Daniel took Castle's silence to mean agreement. "So I'll go make the call to the pilot then," he said taking off toward the back room. _

_Castle pulled out his cell phone and hit a button on the speed dial. A picture of Kate laughing popped up on the screen. _

_"What is it Castle?" came the voice on the other end._

_"Please tell me someone's been murdered."_

_"Running out of content for your next book already," she teased. "But actually yea, I was just about to call you." _

_Castle scribbled the address down on the back of a cocktail napkin just as Daniel emerged from the back. "We leave in an hour. Go get your stuff." _

_"About that…I really am going to have to pass. I've got a murder to see to it." He waved the address in the air. Daniel looked at him and let out a laugh._

_"Okay, man, but don't say I didn't try to save you from another failed relationship." Castle could feel the agitation rising in his gut._

_"Like I said, it's not like that," he refuted again, his words sounding hollow even to his own ears. _

_"Whatever you say." Daniel turned to walk Castle out of the bar. "Give me a call if you change your mind. The offer is always open."_

_"Yea, sure. I'll give you a call in a couple weeks." But he never did._

All around Castle the music pulsed; people swayed and grinded, lost in some sort of alcohol induced trance. Looking out over the dance floor, at the frenzied bodies desperately trying to feel a human connection they were lacking in their everyday lives, he didn't feel the least bit remorseful that this part of his life was over.

Across the room Castle watched as Beckett zeroed in on Daniel. Cutting a path through the crowd, she moved onto the dance floor, swaying her hips to the beat of the music. It took all his willpower to remain seated at the bar instead of following into step behind her.

This is never going to work, Beckett thought as she made her way across the dance floor toward Daniel's booth. She had expected some competition for his attention when she agreed to do this, but now she felt like she was going up against every single model to ever grace the pages of a Victoria's Secret catalog.

She emerged onto the edge of the dance floor, directly in Daniel's line of sight. Game time. Beckett slowly spun around in a circle, letting her hips rotate in a wide arc. One arm raised up toward the ceiling while the other combed through her flowing hair, fanning it out across her shoulders.

She turned her head toward Daniel to see if he had noticed her and was met with an attentive, but slightly perplexed gaze. She continued swaying, unsure if her movements were attracting or confusing him, when a big smile broke out across his face. He motioned for her to come over. That was decidedly too easy, Beckett thought, as she climbed the stairs into the booth.

"If it isn't THE Detective Kate Beckett in the flesh" Daniel crooned, patting the empty seat next to him. "Come, sit down." Beckett stumbled for a second, unsure how to respond to his recognition. This had got to be her worst undercover work ever. "Are you sneaking out on Rick or is he here with you somewhere?"

Caught off guard, Beckett waved at Castle, signaling him to join her in the booth. She could tell he was just as confused as her as he tried to discreetly gesture 'what's going on' as he approached.

"Ricky, man, it's been far too long. Good to see you," Daniel said, standing up to shake Castle's hand. Castle tried to act nonchalant, unsure as to whether this was an updated part of Beckett's plan. "I was starting to think the fiancé here had you ball and chained to the house, and not in the good way if you know what I mean."

Castle let out an uncomfortable laugh, glancing at Beckett to see if she had caught what he said. The look on her face told him she did.

"Wait, did you just say fiancé?" Beckett's eyes narrowed, adding an angry intensity to the question.

"I did. Was it supposed to be some sort of secret?" Daniel laughed. "Because if so you're not doing a very good job at keeping it." He turned to Castle. "Now I see why you never showed me this beauty's pictures years ago. I would have had to steal her from you."

Beckett felt like the world around her was unraveling and she was frantically grasping at strings to try and keep it held together. "So you know who I am? And you know we're engaged?" Beckett asked, the frustration seeping into her words.

Daniel just kept laughing like he was privy to some inside joke she wasn't getting. "Well yea. I mean I didn't until this morning but…here this might explain it a lot. He waved down one of his body guards and shouted for him to get the Post from the back room. A minute later Beckett found herself staring at an open spread—the title Page Six glaring back at her—plastered with pictures of her and Castle from various locations around the city. The headline read, '_Third Time's the Charm?'_

Daniel looked between the pair, clearly amused at the tension that was building. He lifted his glass of champagne. "I guess congratulations are in order."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: It has been brutally cold where I live, which given the weather everywhere lately can only mean I do not live in Florida. Please let me know what you loved, what you liked, and what parts were so horrible you want to revoke my fan fiction writer status.**

**Thanks to Star90 for pointing out that Capt. Gates already knew they were engaged. Oops! Nothing a little rewrite can't fix.**

* * *

The alarm clock on the night stand was set for 7:00 AM, but at just past five, Kate found herself sitting in bed, wide-awake, replaying the events from last night. Next to her on the bed Castle was sound asleep. Every now and then she'd hear him quietly murmur, stirring ever so slightly from sleep, as he shifted his body close enough to hers that she could feel the heat radiating off. She wondered if his dreams were being tormented with the same worries as her waking thoughts.

Their departure from the club had been quick, forgoing small-talk and formal goodbyes. The only thing she remembered from her conversation with Daniel Henry after seeing the Page Six headline was verifying a time for him to meet her at the precinct the following day. Her strong emotional responses to things may sometimes be a detriment in her personal life, but professionally, they helped her focus and get the job done—they helped her remember what she was there to do.

Out on the sidewalk, camera flashes reflected off the swirling snow and no matter which way they turned an extended microphone blocked their exit. Kate felt like she was trapped inside a glittery, nightmarish snow globe. Even if the media weren't initially there to snag an interview with the newly engaged couple, they didn't waste the opportunity.

"Mr. Castle," a reporter shouted. Kate recognized the blonde as the same woman who had tried to flag him down earlier. "Have you set a date yet for the wedding?"

Another person yelled out, "How does it feel to be marrying the real Nikki Heat?"

"Rick, so is the third time really the charm?

"Are the exes invited to the wedding?"

The questions flew at them in rapid fire succession, the last one hitting Kate right in the gut, momentarily knocking the wind right out of her. She wished they made insensitive question-proof vests that could stop the hurtful words, because she could feel what little was left of her calm resolve crumbling. Like vultures circling their prey, the reporters pressed in, looking for weaknesses to exploit.

Holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the blinding camera lights, she glanced over at Castle to gauge his reaction to the barrage of questions. Instead of looking angry or frazzled, he was sporting a relaxed posture and flashing the cameras his best smile—one that seemed far more suited for a book signing than fielding questions about his ex wives.

Castle reached over, wrapping his arm around Kate's shoulder, and pulled her close so that they were standing hip to hip. Then, sounding like a man who had spent hours rehearsing his responses, he answered each of their questions.

"We haven't set a date yet, but only because we are so head over heals in love at the moment that we can think of little else." He leaned over and kissed her on cheek, then directed his attention to the next reporter. "How does it feel to be marrying the real Nikki Heat? I still can't believe it. When I first met Kate, I knew there was something amazing about her—the dedication she had for her work, the tenacity, the brilliance, the empathy she extends to the victims she fights for, not to mention how breathtakingly beautiful she is. The woman you read about in the books, that only scratches the surface of how amazing the woman standing before you is. I'm a very lucky man."

Despite the cold, Kate could feel her face flush at his declaration of love. She knew he felt all these things; he'd told her before in the quiet, privacy of his loft, but to have them spoken so publically was like hearing them with new ears. It made her heart race and head spin; she wrapped her own arm around his waist to steady herself, curious to see how he'd tackle the other questions.

"I know it may seem like I'm a fool for love, like maybe I should just resign myself to sitting on the sidelines, or at least not push all-in, but when you meet the right person, the person that hits the reset button on your life and makes it all feel new again, it's like doing everything for the first time—only with a lot more wisdom and insight than you had before." The look on his face was a telling 'you know what I'm talking about.'

Castle spotted his red Ferrari coming up the road and watched as the valet pulled to a stop right in front of them. He used the distraction to push through the wall of reporters and guided Kate to the passenger side of the car. Just before sliding her into the seat he turned back toward the cameras. The reporters perked up, eager to hear whatever gossip he'd throw their way.

In classic Richard Castle style he responded to their last question. "And if you can tell me what wedding gifts my exes will spring for, I'll tell you if they're invited to the wedding." With that he shut Kate's door, walked around to the driver's side—ignoring the new flurry of questions flying at him—and headed toward home.

Sitting inside the warmth of the car, Castle tried focusing his attention on the slippery road ahead but all he could think about was the stunned look on Kate's face when Daniel showed them the Page Six headline. When he proposed to Kate, it had occurred to him that eventually their private life might become public domain, but he had always imagined being the one to orchestrate the announcement. More importantly, he had planned on having a serious conversation with Kate about what a life in the public eye meant for them long before they had a life in the public eye. The Page Six outing left him feeling like he was doing damage control, although whether it was damage control over their public image or Kate's emotions he wasn't sure.

Beckett looked over at Castle and saw that his hands, clenched tightly around the wheel, were visibly trembling. With his confident performance back there, she hadn't stopped to think how the news might be affecting him just as much as it was her.

"Rick." She was the first to break the silence. He winced slightly at the sound of his name and she wished she would have just let the silence carry them home.

"Kate," he breathed out her name. His face was a mix of regret and exhaustion. "I'm so sorry."

Sorry? That wasn't what she was expecting. Anger? Yes. Frustration? Sure. Maybe even amusement; it was Castle after all. But apologetic. What did he have to be sorry for?

"I think it's my fault that the news leaked."

"Wait, what?" Beckett bit back her urge to yell at him, to scream 'what were thinking' and 'how could you.' She wanted to hear him out first.

"Last week, I went to pick up our wedding bands. While I was waiting I ran into…" Castle paused trying to choose his words wisely and decided to start over. "Do you remember that case last year at the WHNY news station, local weather girl gets murdered?"

Beckett thought for a moment. "Yea. Mandy Michaels. I remember." She wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"Well then do you also remember a certain celebrity reporter—Kristina Cottera?"

"Kristina doesn't take no for an answer Cottera. Can't say I remember her, but her boobs, those I can see quite clearly." In any other context that jab would have come off as innocent teasing, but with her anxiety rising by the minute, the harshness cut through her voice.

"Yea, that's the one. When I went to pick up our bands she was there trying to get a scoop from the jeweler on some upcoming celebrity wedding. Well one thing led to another and I let it spill that I was getting married." Castle got really serious. "I swear Kate, she said it was just between us."

Beckett wanted to be angry. She wanted to yell. She wanted to feel something, anything besides the overwhelming fear that was making her stomach turn inside out.

"Castle," she said softly, her voice not giving away the emotions festering just below the surface. "I'm worried that this will change things—for you, for me, for us." Castle inhaled deeply, held it for a moment, and let the air slowly escape from his lungs—a sigh of resignation.

"Kate, I'd be lying if I said nothing is going to change, but not in the ways I think you fear."

"And what ways would those be?" she asked, wondering if they were on the same page.

Castle thought for a moment and then began. "I think you worry that your credibility at work will be questioned, maybe not by your peers but by the people you are fighting for and the people you are fighting against. I think you're worried that this will impact your ability to do your job at times. Maybe going undercover becomes harder. Maybe people have more ammunition to fling at you in the interrogation room." He stopped to see if any of what he was saying was registering with her and watched as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"Go on," she pressed.

"I think you're worried that this small bit of fame will crowd out other elements of our relationship. That managing a public persona could interfere with living a life, or worst case, take over our lives" He instantly thought of his second wife Gina. Their relationship had always been centered around his work and the highs and lows that went with a having career in the spotlight. As much as his relationship with Kate had been founded on his professional pursuits, it was when researching Kate became secondary to getting to know Kate that he really fell in love with her.

Beckett sat in stunned silence, blankly staring out the window as his words ran through her mind. Sometimes Castle could seem so clueless when it came to her emotions, but tonight it was like he was reading her thoughts.

"And what do you think?" she asked.

"I think with all the hurdles we've already jumped and all the obstacles we've overcome to get where we are today, a Page Six headline will end up just being a footnote in our long amazingly complicated history."

Arriving back at the loft, Castle pulled the car into his parking space, assisted Beckett in getting out, and they walked in contemplative silence until they were in the familiar surroundings of the bedroom. From the time they left to go to the club until the time they walked back in the door couldn't have been more than an hour, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

They both barely made it out of their outfits and into pajamas before collapsing into bed, completely exhausted by the emotional ride of the evening.

"How about we talk about this in the morning," Castle proposed. "We're both tired, and could probably benefit from a solid night's sleep." He rolled over toward her, gently brushing the hair off her face, and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you Kate. We'll figure this out I promise."

His words sounded so certain, so comforting. She was almost willing to blindly believe him, but the uneasiness still sitting in the pit of her stomach told her it wouldn't be that easy. She reached up and cupped his check with her hand, looking sincerely into his eyes. She wanted to make sure he heard her—she wanted to make sure he understood that despite everything that had gone on tonight, one thing would always be true. "I love you too Rick."

The clock on the nightstand now read 6:10 AM. One by one the streetlights outside the window flickered off as the sun started to peak through the winter sky. Unable to just sit in bed any longer, Beckett made her way toward the living room windows, her bare feet softly padding on the cool hardwood floors. The overnight snow fall had blanketed the city with a dusting of white powder, hiding the dirt and grime New York City had become known for. She watched a lone car skid a couple feet down the street, bypassing a stop sign as the wheels glided over an invisible patch of ice. She hoped the salt trucks would make their rounds before the real rush hour traffic began.

Lost in thought, she didn't hear the quiet footsteps entering the room. "Having trouble sleeping?" Castle asked, causing Beckett to jump, momentarily startled by his voice cutting through the silence. Castle watched her muscles tense and her hand reach for a gun that wasn't there—a reminder that even after the heeling effects of time and lots of therapy, some ghosts never stop haunting. "Sorry, I need to start wearing a cow bell or something."

She laughed, knowing it was what he needed to hear. It was what she needed too after the night they just had. "Coffee?" she asked making her way toward the kitchen. Seamlessly maneuvering around the cabinets, she pulled out two mugs, cream and sugar, and coffee grinds from their respective places. They sat there together watching the coffee trickle into the pot, both hoping that the first sip would clear some of the haze from their brains.

Breathing in the aroma of the her first cup, Beckett felt her frayed nerves begin to relax. There was something about coffee-the ritual involved in making and drinking it—that had a calming effect on her. By the peaceful look on Castle's face she could tell it was having the same effect on him too. She wished they could just sit there all day like this, the pressing concerns of the outside world at bay, but she knew that whether you addressed them or not, the problems would still be there.

Castle could see the worry lines crinkling across her forehead, and he knew it was time to take action—stop that snowball before it got out of hand. "You know, I have to admit something to you. For a moment there last night, it felt really good to stand there with you as my fiancé—to not have to sidestep over the fact that I am deeply, madly in love with you." He twisted her body toward him on the stool, grabbing the cup of coffee from her hands to place on the counter.

"Yea it did feel good," she agreed. "Only one thing. This life in the public eye—the in-your-face reporters, the pictures on Page Six, the unwanted intrusions—I'm not sure I'm ready for all that Castle. I like our quiet, private life—"

"No," Castle gasped and covered his mouth with his hand, "you don't say." Beckett playfully swatted at his arm. "Kate, I figured that out the moment you pulled out all your guns trying to convince Montgomery to kick me to curb. Or how annoyed you got when my one-case consultation turned into shadowing you for a novel. Or how about the time you showed up at the Nikki Heat series launch party looking like a duck out of water. I'd never seen someone look quite so awkwardly beautiful, the way you bumbled around the room looking for a familiar face."

"I was trying to blend in."

"You looked more like an ostrich trying to hide by sticking his head in the sand." She furrowed her brow at him and he backpedaled a little. "Let's go with a very beautiful and confident ostrich then."

She dropped her face to hide the cheek-wide grin. Only Castle could call someone an ostrich and make it sound like a compliment. "So what do you propose we do then?"

"I think we should contact the post, maybe even Ms. Cottera if you're willing. That way we control how the information is presented. They're less like to let rumors fly if they've had a friendly chat with the source."

Beckett considered his suggestion—surprised that unlike his crazy murder theories, it was both realistic and insightful. Although she wasn't sure how friendly she could be if forced to talk to Ms. Boobs In Your Face herself. "Okay make the call." She forced a smile, trying to will herself to come to terms with the situation.

"I know how uncomfortable this makes you, and I want you to know that I will do my best to shield us from too much outside intrusion. But—"

"It's a big part of your life. I know." Beckett reached for his hands, pulling them onto her lap. "And as much as you want to protect me from it I want to support you in it." She gently squeezed his hands. "I know it won't be easy, but I don't want to run and hide. I don't want to start reconstructing a wall that we worked so hard on knocking down. I want to face this together. Whatever that means."

All night Castle had had nightmares about how this conversation could have gone. A fuming Kate slamming the loft door in his face. A distraught Kate curled up in bed, unwilling to talk. An unsupportive Kate who saw the public outing as a personal offense, instead of a situation that affected them both equally. But sitting in front of him was the absolute best version of Kate that he could hope for—a loving, supportive, and resolute fiancé.

He lunged at her from the stool, circling her in an embrace, and rested his head on her shoulder. She leaned into him, letting his torso support her weight, and rested her head against his. "Thank you, Kate, for everything."

"Always, Castle."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I rewrote the last chapter shortly after posting it when I reader pointed out a continuity error (oops!). If you read the initial version where they are freaking out about Gates finding out about their engagement you might want to go back and reread the second half of the last chapter. If not, just be aware that there were some changes.**

* * *

"I don't know, Javi." Ryan pushed his chair back from the desk and spun around to face his partner. "Jenny is pretty dead set on picking her cousin."

Esposito's face crumpled up—a look that was part disgust and part shock. "What? That scrawny, bow-tie wearing dude. Fuzzy red hair. Glasses so thick they make him look like he's ready to do some welding at a moment's notice. Showed up to her Birthday last year with his own gluten-free, sugar-free, dairy-free, cake-free cake. Talked about his pet hamsters ALL night. That is the guy you want to be the godfather of baby Ryan?"

Ryan slumped over in his chair. "To his defense he does work at a pet store. So…" He tried to come up with some excuse that made talking about hamsters for two hours socially acceptable.

"So nothing. All I'm saying is your kid has two potential futures. Future A," he held his hand out palm up like he was showing off the newly revealed prize behind curtain number one. "Baby Ryan grows up with a rodent for a best friend, breaks out in hives every time he tries to talk to a girl, and counts joining the bumper-bowling singles league as both playing a sport and playing the field."

"You do realize the designated godparent will only get custody if both Jenny and I die, right?"

Esposito ignored his question. "And then there's future B." He held out his other hand, bobbing them up and down like he was balancing a scale. "Star quarter back in high school. Graduates magna cum something or other from college. Goes on to become a decorated war veteran and ten years down the road—BAM, "he clapped his hands together startling Ryan, "the White House. But let's not forget baby Ryan will also have a way with the ladies…or dudes. Whatever floats his boat."

Ryan looked amused. "And where do you suppose he is going to get this smooth-talking way with the ladies from? Because last time I checked you and the ladies, or should I say Lanies, were not hitting it off." He intentionally used Lanie's name to see what kind of reaction he could get. He knew Esposito liked heart-to-heart, emotional talks as much as he enjoyed getting punched in the face, so he hoped the humorous, back-door approach would get his friend talking.

Esposito pushed his chair back and stood up. "Bro," his voice dead serious, "I've got so much game going on that you just can't keep up with the plays."

"Ooh, ooh. What are we playing? Can I get in on it?" Castle plopped down in Esposito's chair and spun it around in a circle—a little kid delighting in a ride on his personal merry-go-round. He stomped his feet down stopping the circular motion, his eyes loosing focus until the world around him stopped spinning.

"We're playing Life." Esposito answered. Castle scanned the desktops, confused by the absence of a board. Esposito continued, his voice deepening. He sounded like the voice over for an action movie trailer. "Life. Two potential futures. Two potential doors to walk through. Choose the wrong one and—"

"Okay, okay. I get it," Ryan said. What he really got was how desperately Esposito was trying to deflect his subtle probing into his personal life. He turned to Castle, "Javi here is trying to convince me of his merits as the godfather to baby Ryan. Jenny wants to pick her cousin."

"The hamster man," Esposito exclaimed.

"Wait, the I tuck my hamsters in at night and sing them lullabies hamster man?" Castle sported the same shocked look Esposito had earlier.

Esposito emphatically pointed his finger, looking more like a teenage girl dishing some gossip than an adult homicide detective. "Exactly."

"Well I can solve that problem for you," Castle said. "Bypass hamster man and Esposito and make me the godfather. In case you didn't know I'm great with kids."

"Notice he didn't say babies," Beckett pointed out, walking into their huddle carrying two hot cups of coffee from the break room. She handed one to Castle and propped herself against Ryan's desk.

"May I remind you who was on diaper duty the entire time we watched baby Cosmo."

"Yea I think it was mostly your mom and Alexis," Beckett teased. She knew he changed more than his fair share of diapers but couldn't pass up the opportunity to press Castle's buttons. It was too enjoyable watching the indignation fill his voice as he presented a multi-tiered argument opposing her point. The best part being when he finally realized she was only giving him a hard time and his passionate argument slowly trailed off.

Castle didn't disappoint. "What! My mother? Alexis? They watched him for all of a couple hours. I had him with me all day while you and the boys worked the case. Changed my first diaper in the Babies R' Us bathroom." He held up his index finger. "Then there was the one I changed in the back of the cruiser." Another finger went up. "Then the one I changed when we arrived back at the station." Three fingers. "Then—"

Beckett, Ryan, and Esposito held back their laughter for as long as possible, but Castle's incredible recall for every diaper he changed had them rolling before he could get all five fingers up.

"What?" Castle asked. Esposito good-naturedly patted him on the shoulder. "I really did change a diaper when…we…got…"

"That was too easy," Beckett said in between laughs.

"Yea Castle, we get it. You're king of the diapers." Ryan added.

"Hey man, new nickname?" suggested Esposito. "The Diaper King. I think it suits you." He turned to Ryan before adding, "So now your choices are Hamster Man, the Diaper King, or me. Choose wisely." He returned to balancing imaginary scales on his palms.

"Speaking of making choices." It was a weak segue but Ryan didn't want to miss his window of opportunity before Beckett switched into work mode. He pulled open a drawer in his desk and whipped out the Page Six headline. "When did you guys decide to go public?" He tossed the spread on the desk and Beckett found herself looking at the same images from yesterday.

The expression on her face told him all he needed to know.

"Well at least they got some nice pictures," Esposito said feebly. He picked up the paper and pointed at a shot from a crime scene a couple weeks back. "I'm particularly fond of this one." He lifted the paper up to his face the way he might hold a mug shot up to a suspect for a comparison. "Notice the handsome man in the background?" He cracked a cheesy grin.

Beckett grabbed the paper from him and slid it back into the drawer. "So where are we on the investigation?"

Ryan seamlessly shifted into detective-mode, sensing this was not the time to push Beckett, and answered her question. "Lanie called to confirm time and cause of death. Her analysis places the murder at just after 1AM, meaning she was killed shortly after leaving the club. COD was from the champagne bottle as we suspected. Small fragments of matching glass were lodged inside her skull and the fracture patterns are a match. She'll call later with the toxicology report."

Esposito took over the briefing. "So here's something much more interesting. That call Caitlyn got right before she left the club. It came from somewhere inside Daniel Henry's penthouse. Problem is, there were about a dozen people on the premises at the time—cleaning staff, a lone butler, some friends crashing from out of town, and of course," he gestured over at the murder board, "Daniel's girlfriend Samantha Roberts who was home sick at the time."

Beckett thought for a minute, planning out her strategy of attack. "Javi, you and Ryan head over to Daniel's penthouse. Interview both Samantha and Daniel's other girlfriend Jennifer, and then talk to anyone else who was home at the time that call was made. I want to know who made it and what it was about. Castle and I are going to stay here and talk to Daniel when he shows up, which should be," she looked down at her watch, "any minute now."

As if on cue, the elevator doors opened and Daniel Henry walked out. Despite his undoubtedly late night, he looked like a man who had just arrived home from a week at the spa. The harsh lights of the precinct that made even the most attractive look a little weathered, somehow made him look even younger and more vibrant. Catching Beckett's eye, Daniel waved from across the room, flashing a grin. Beckett had to muster all her reserve will power to act professional and not roll her eyes at the display. She nodded to Ryan and Esposito who took off toward the elevator, giving Daniel a once-over as they passed.

Imagining small talk would be like listening to nails on a chalk board, Beckett wasted no time directing him to take a seat in the interrogation room before joining Castle behind the two-way mirror. As eager as she was to get this over with, her instincts told her that she would get more information out of him if she made him wait. As a man who was accustomed to giving orders and making demands, she needed this moment to remind him who was running the show.

"So how does it feel to be reunited with your old friend?" Beckett asked, watching Daniel through the glass. From the few words the men had exchanged at the club she got the feeling Castle and Daniel shared an interesting history, but since he hadn't been very forth coming with an explanation, she hadn't pushed.

Castle stared vacantly at the glass, his focus on his own reflection and not the man sitting on the other side. Her question couldn't be more on target, but not in the way he guessed she intended. Looking back at him he saw the Richard Castle from his younger days—the reckless, egotistical, shallow man who got high off of pulling careless pranks and sleeping around—his daughter serving as his only anchor to normalcy and a responsible adult life. He had since learned to look forgivingly, even nostalgically, at that juncture in his life, but having a very real reminder sitting before him still didn't feel good.

"Castle are you okay?" Beckett could see the inner turmoil darkening his features.

Castle knew Beckett was well-versed in his history. He knew she was beyond judging him for it. But watching the way her face registered disgust, if only for a second, when she spotted Daniel across the bull pen made him feel a level of remorse that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. "Yea, I'm fine," he mustered. "Just feels strange seeing someone from your past after this long." He didn't tell her that the person he was referring to was himself.

"You can sit this one out if you want," she offered.

Castle thought about it for a moment. "No, if you're done running from your past then so am I." With that he pushed into the interrogation room, leaving little opportunity for Beckett to ask him what he meant.

Upon entering the room, Beckett watched as Daniel momentarily tensed up and then, like an actor donning a character for a play, relaxed back into the chair. It was clear that getting any useful information from him wasn't going to be easy, but his small lapse in character told her all she needed to know. Daniel was anxious, and anxious men eventually talked.

Beckett knew she needed to walk a fine line between expressing sympathy for his loss—even though it didn't seem he viewed Caitlyn's death that way—and asking the tough questions. But before she could get a word out, Daniel took control of the conversation, his smooth-talking playboy veneer taking center stage.

"Ricky. Kate. So sorry you two had to leave early last night. Man the stories I could have told you about this one." He gestured toward Castle as they took their places across the table. Thankfully Castle didn't fuel the fire with a response.

"Mr. Henry, thank you for coming in this morning," Beckett said.

"Really, honey. You gotta break out the tough lady cop routine already? Whatever happened to common courtesy and etiquette? You know, a little chit-chatting, flirting, some pleasantries among old friends." His rebuke was saccharine, bordering on sleazy. The way he drew out certain words. The way his voice inflected upwards at the end of each sentence like he was asking a question. Beckett wondered if the man could say anything without it sounding disingenuous—or ironic.

"Mr. Henry," she began again, this time all pleasantness gone from her voice, "common courtesy went out the window the moment your girlfriend was murdered. We can sit here and talk about the old days, swap stories, but I'm much more interested in finding out what happened to Caitlyn. I'm hoping you are too."

Daniel leaned back in his chair and laughed, "Rick you sure do know how to pick em'."

Beckett could feel her blood beginning to boil—her urge to flip the table over and shock him into submission rising by the second. But instead of letting her emotions fly off the handle, she barreled forward, taking another approach.

"Okay listen. This can go two different ways. Either you cut the bullshit," she purposefully used her sweetest voice, hoping it would grate on his nerves, "and answer my questions or I let everyone know just how uncooperative you are. What do you think will happen when the media gets wind that Mr. Daniel Henry is purposefully interfering with an investigation? I know they say when you're famous any attention is good attention, but getting named as a possible murder suspect—maybe not."

The smile on Daniel's face gave way to anger. "What are you trying to say? You know that would be slander if you said any such thing, and I could have your badge revoked."

Beckett leaned in, "All I said I would say is that you are uncooperative, which up to this point has been true." She dropped her voice to a whisper and innocently said, "I can't help what ends up as the Page Six headline. I think that much has been made abundantly clear."

Castle could feel the mood in the room shift and decided to use it as his opening into the conversation—to call on his former friendship to crack through the façade. Even though he and Beckett rarely entered an interrogation with a game plan, they always seemed to fall into sync, dancing around the questions to a tempo only they could hear. The execution was often so flawless it was as if it were scripted.

"Daniel, please. We just need to ask you a few questions," Castle gently pushed, asking not as the guy assisting the NYC police in a murder investigation but as the guy who at one time was willing to fly off to Miami at a moment's notice.

Daniel's face softened and silence settled into the room. Castle and Beckett sat in the stillness, knowing it could wear down Daniel's resolve faster than any more persuasive arguments from them. With a long, exaggerated sigh, Daniel leaned over the table, his head resting in his hands, and for a brief moment Beckett saw beyond the playboy personality.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, pushing himself back to a upright position.

Castle took the lead, asking him about his relationship with Caitlyn, her role within their unique business arrangement, and anything that set off red flags recently.

"Look," Daniel said about twenty minutes into their conversation, "despite our rough start I really do wish I could be more helpful. But like I've said, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary going on. I've got a business to run, I don't have time to meddle in the girls' petty arguments."

"So there was tension between them then?" Beckett asked, wishing he would have mentioned this fact when they first discussed conflicts among his girlfriends.

"Well yea, I suppose. I walked in on Caitlyn and Samantha arguing about a week ago. Don't know about what. Didn't care at the time. Probably nothing a little slumber party pillow fight couldn't fix though." He winked at Beckett who shot him a look.

"Mr. Henry." It was all she had to say to get him back on track.

"I would talk to Samantha if you want to know more."

Beckett and Castle pushed up from the table in unison. "Well thank you for your time, Mr. Henry. We'll get in touch with you if we need anything else." She extended her hand, offering him a professional courtesy he hadn't earned.

"Hey Rick. Jet's still fueled up, should you ever change your mind about Miami." He smiled, but it lacked the luster and arrogance that the man walking into the room carried. He sounded defeated.

Castle glanced at Beckett and was flooded with a feeling that the Rick of his younger days never knew—complete and total satisfaction. He didn't need Miami. He didn't need a distraction. He just needed her. Because nothing made him want to live life in the present more than living a life with Kate. Castle patted Daniel on the back as he headed toward the elevator. "Sorry, my answer is still no."

"Your loss."

Castle swiveled toward Beckett as Daniel disappeared behind the closing doors. "I'd say it's my gain." He smiled at her, feeling the regrets from his past descending down the elevator with Daniel.

"How about our gain?" She grabbed his hand, softly running her thumb over his before continuing. "Castle I know you two have a complicated history."

"Not really complicated," he said, "more like wild and reckless. And it's not something I'm particularly proud of."

"Castle do you know one of the reasons I fell in love with you?" She waited for his snarky remark about his ruggedly handsome appearance or charming wit but Castle stood there, silent, waiting for her reason. "It was because of your ability to evolve." She could tell by the expression on his face he needed more of an explanation. "So much of my life has been spent fixated on the past—on spinning my wheels but getting nowhere. And then I met you. You pushed me. You challenged me. You infuriated me at times. You were a shoulder to cry on, a punching bag when I was angry, and someone to let loose and have fun with when I needed to unwind. You have this ability to adapt—to morph into the person I've needed at just the right moment—even when I've been too blind to see it. Daniel Henry, he's one-dimensional; what you see is what you get. But you, Castle, everyday I see new facets to your personality that make me love you more than I ever imagined I could love anyone."

Castle felt is chest grow heavy, the urge to lunge forward and kiss her in the middle of the bull pen kept in check only by the silhouette of Captain Gates behind her office blinds. He was amazed that the woman standing before him, speaking so freely without a tinge of sarcasm, was the same woman that took years to admit her feelings. He smiled, a shy, boyish grin and then led them back to her desk, letting the moment pass.

"I need to make a call to Ryan and Esposito—give them a heads-up on the argument between the girls." Beckett picked up her phone leaving Castle to stare at the murder board. He picked up a red sharpie, drew a line between Samantha and Caitlyn's pictures, and in large block letters wrote TENSION. He hoped Ryan and Esposito would uncover more useful information than they had.

Castle shifted his attention back to Beckett who was still on the phone, the cord fidgeting between her fingers. Instead of talking though, she was listening with rapt attention. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she wrote something down on a pad of paper before hanging up.

"Did the guys already come up with something," he asked.

"Even better. That was Lanie. The toxicology report came back and it looks like we might have another motive for our murder." She held up the pad of paper and Castle read the single word she had written down—COCAINE.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Happy New Year! Only 6 more days until a new episode. Here is my latest chapter to tide you over. Please let me know if the case is easy enough to follow, while still being interesting. I have trouble following the cases in an episode sometimes, although it's probably because I spend the entire hour obsessing over Caskett and tuning out the case. :)**

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"That was Beckett," Esposito said as he stepped out of the police cruiser in front of Daniel Henry's residence. "They're on their way to see Lanie. Get this, tox screen found traces of cocaine all over Caitlyn's body." He looked up at the looming high rise, its glassy surface blending in with the grey, winter sky. He'd visited enough expensive, seemingly idyllic homes before to know that behind every picture-perfect building in New York lived hundreds of dirty secrets threatening to tarnish the pristine exterior. Esposito hoped he and Ryan could expose a few today.

"Well that opens up a whole new line of questioning," noted Ryan, as he joined his partner outside the car. Out on the street, Central Park traffic crept along, pausing occasionally to let sled wielding children and parents cross the intersection. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like?" He gestured toward the building. "You know, to live the high life?"

Esposito shrugged his shoulders. "The only thing high about that life is literally the elevation. What they don't put in the brochures is that in order to afford a place like this you have to work so much you never step foot in it."

"Eh, maybe." Ryan said as he followed Esposito through the revolving entrance door. "If I can't have the digs can I at least get the complimentary housekeeping though?" He smiled as a middle-aged woman lugging a vacuum and a bucket full of cleaning supplies hurried past them.

"Isn't that the whole point of getting married. You get someone to look after you—clean up after you." Esposito playfully punched Ryan, attempting to divert the death stare his partner was giving him.

"Dude, if Jenny heard you say that, you'd be so dead." In the two years he and Jenny had been married he had learned a lot of valuable lessons about what makes a marriage successful. Equitable division of chores was definitely one of them.

Esposito pushed the call button on the elevator intercom and a proper, English accented voice answered.

"This is Detective Javier Esposito from the NYPD. I have an appointment to speak with some of the residents and house guests." The intercom clicked off, and the elevator doors opened. Esposito and Ryan stepped in, and without pushing a single button the elevator began its smooth ascent. They watched as each floor number briefly illuminated as they rose, wondering how far up the metaphorical ladder they'd be climbing.

The doors opened onto the top floor and they were greeted by the same English accent as from the intercom. "Gentlemen," the man said perfunctorily, extending his arm. "May I take your coats?" He looked like he had stepped out of an ornate 18-century period piece with his inky, pomaded hair, white gloves, waistcoat, and high-collared shirt that left his chin jutting toward the walls. For someone whose job it was to serve he exuded an air of aloof superiority.

Ryan and Esposito handed over their coats and followed the man into the central living room. Just as they were being instructed to take a seat, a young, blonde woman came running into the room, her small, lacy nightgown coming dangerously close to sliding down her bare shoulder.

"Are you the guys investigating Caitlyn's death?" she squeaked as she plopped down on the loveseat and tucked her feet under her body, leaning forward like she was waiting for some juicy gossip from a girlfriend. Before Esposito or Ryan could speak she continued on in her overly excited, kid on a sugar rush tone. "Of course you are, duh." She rolled her eyes and settled back into the cushions, her nightgown creeping up her thighs. Ryan stood there, slightly stunned, his eyes fixed on a Matisse oil painting on the opposing wall. He busied his mind with trying to decide if it was an original or a reproduction. Esposito's gaze fell slightly to the woman's legs, but an elbow to the ribs from Ryan brought them sharply back up.

"Miss Dobbs. Right?" Ryan asked, recalling her DMV picture.

"The one and only, but you can call me Jennifer" The woman demurely smiled and extended her hand, palm down, like a kiss was the natural way to greet someone of her position. Ryan reached out, awkwardly grasping her hand and corkscrewed it back to an upright handshake position. Jennifer looked disappointed.

"Jennifer, is there—" Ryan began but couldn't get out the full sentence before she interrupted.

"Isn't it terrible—Caitlyn's death. I've been so torn up ever since I found out. And then to think she died just after working the party with me. To think I was one of the last people to see her alive." She dramatically fanned her face, holding back forced tears.

"Miss Dobbs," Ryan continued. "I think—"

"Who would do something like this to her? And right before we were supposed to go to LA together. Who is going to be my drinking buddy now? Who is going to tell me when it's time to turn over when I'm laying out by the pool. Who is going to help me decide what to wear out? You know most people don't know this but there's a fine line between sexy and slutty." She took a deep breathe and plucked a tissue off the table, dabbing at imaginary tears, appearing to gather herself. "Caitlyn was so good with fashion." She paused, struck by her moving eulogy to her friend.

"Miss Dobbs," Ryan stared down at his shoes hoping his irritation could pass as reverence for the dead.

"Jennifer, please call me Jennifer." She sniffled and reached out, laying her hand on Esposito's leg—an absurd act of comfort coming from a woman more concerned with losing her tanning timer than her friend. Esposito knocked her hand off him but took a step closer, his looming stature having the desired effect by drawing her eyes up.

"Miss Dobbs," Esposito intentionally ignored her request to call her by her first name, "Detective Ryan and myself would like to speak with both you and Miss Roberts, preferably somewhere a little more private." He gestured to the cleaning lady dusting off the drapery behind him and the butler standing ready at the door. "Is there an office we could use to speak to the two of you?"

Jennifer's grief stricken face flashed fearful obedience under the authority of Esposito's commanding voice, and she retreated down the hallway mumbling about retrieving Samantha.

"So…about that high life," Ryan said.

"Like I said man, elevation. The higher the floor number the higher the level of idiocy."

The butler, who had followed Jennifer out of the room, returned and led Ryan and Esposito into a study down the hall. A built-in bookshelf lined one wall and an assortment of signed memorabilia and pictures of Daniel Henry with various celebrities lined the other one. In the center a large mahogany desk backed up to a floor to ceiling window with a view of Central Park. After a couple minutes spent admiring the park view, Jennifer, wearing a more conservative jeans and sweater, entered room followed closely by Samantha. Esposito motioned for them to take a seat on two antique, high-backed chairs while he settled against the desk, notepad in hand.

"I can tell you ladies have a lot of important things to get to so I won't take up much of your time," Esposito began, immediately questioning his use of the word important. Were trips to the nail salon and Starbucks considered important? "What can you tell me about Caitlyn's daily activities leading up to the day of her death? Anything seem unusual?"

Jennifer was the first to speak up, a look of consternation playing out across her face. "Now that you mention it, there was something funny." Esposito pulled out his pen ready to jot down any relevant names and places she might reveal. "About a week before she was murdered we went to get coffee at the café just down the street. The barista made her favorite drink—a tall skinny mocha, no whip—with regular, full-fat milk and she didn't even have him remake it." Her mouth gaped open as she waited for the impact of what she said to register with the detectives. When she didn't get a response she pressed on, completely oblivious. "I mean can you believe it? Full fat milk. That's just…eww. If she was thinking clearly she would never have taken that drink. Something must have been seriously distracting her."

Ryan watched as Esposito exasperatedly flipped the notebook closed and shoved his hands into his pocket—a clear sign of his partner's irritation. He took a gamble to try and lighten the mood.

"So, Miss Dobbs," Ryan pulled out his own notepad and pen, "think very carefully because this might be important. Did she get the little chocolate sprinkles on top of her mocha?" Ryan silently high-fived himself when he saw Esposito's face crack a tiny grin; his gamble was paying off.

Jennifer scrunched up her face in thought, as she processed memories from her trip to the coffee shop. "You know, I don't think she got any sprinkles," she said worriedly. "Does that mean something?"

"No…sprinkles," he said, scribbling furiously on his notepad. He knew they couldn't carry on this way for long so he switched his attention to Samantha who was still sitting quietly in her chair, unfazed by the ridiculous exchange. Although her indifference made it obvious that Jennifer's quirkiness wasn't a one-shot deal. "Miss Roberts, is there anything you noticed about Caitlyn?"

Samantha shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Either she was someone that didn't' like drawing attention to herself, which was unlikely given her lifestyle, or she was trying to decide how much information she wanted to divulge. "What exactly do you want to know?" She answered their question with a question.

Ryan pushed, "anything you think might be important, or anything that seemed out of the ordinary, no matter how small." He could see the wheels turning in her brain.

"There was something." She paused and Ryan and Esposito could see her doing mental editing—cutting and pasting words and deleting sentences that didn't fit the narrative she wanted to convey. "The past few weeks Caitlyn had been somewhat distant. Like she was lost in thought a lot. I just shrugged it off at first. I mean, this job can get stressful, and I know she had a couple gigs coming up where she was planning to meet with some bigwigs in the modeling world. I figured she was just getting nervous. But then the couple days before she died it was like she fell off the face of the Earth. Besides the Champagne Party the night she died, we barely saw her. I don't know where she went or what she was doing, but it wasn't like her."

"Oh, don't forget about the secret meetings," prompted Jennifer. Ryan was surprised her attention had held long enough to comprehend what Samantha had said.

"What sort of secret meetings?" Esposito asked.

"She'd been spending a lot of time at the clubs hanging out in the back room or mingling with some of Daniel's more elite clientele in private. That's not abnormal, we do it all the time, but normally more than one of us is present, but she insisted it just be her."

"Do you know what she was talking about with these clientele?"

"No. She never said."

"Daniel mentioned that you and Caitlyn might have been arguing lately, can you tell me what that was about?"

Samantha huffed, not wanting to rehash the squabble. "Look, it was nothing."

"How about you let me decide that," Esposito countered.

She crossed her arms over her chest—an overt tell this information wasn't forthcoming. "Daniel rotates through us three girls every time he takes trips out of the state for a new club opening. The next trip was slated to be in a couple weeks. We were going to Miami. I was scheduled to go, but Caitlyn put up a big fuss about going and Daniel caved. I got mad and confronted Caitlyn about it. That's it."

"Do you know why Caitlyn was so insistent on going to Miami?" asked Ryan.

"Not really. I would assume it had something to do with publicity, advancing her career, but she'd never made such a big stink before, and Daniel isn't one to normally cave" She paused for a moment like she was deep in thought. "Can I admit something to you?"

Esposito and Ryan exchanged glances, silently agreeing on who would press her for more details. "Sure, anything," said Ryan.

"I think Caitlyn and Daniel were up to something."

"Can you be more specific? What sort of something?" He flipped to a new page in his notepad and held his pen at the ready—a trick he learned to make people realize that their words carried weight and would be taken seriously. It usually led to more assiduous reports.

"I really don't know. It was just a feeling I got. I wish I could be more helpful." Ryan tucked the pen behind his ear, upset his trick didn't work.

"Well if you think of anything else that seems relevant," he turned his gaze toward Jennifer, "non-coffee related that is, please don't hesitate to give us a call." Ryan extended a business card, wondering how many he had handed out fruitlessly over the years.

Before returning to the precinct Ryan and Esposito split up, interviewing house guests and staff, checking and cross checking lists until they came up with only three potential people who could have made the upsetting call to Caitlyn.

As Ryan carefully pulled the cruiser into the Midtown traffic Esposito made a call to Beckett to catch her up on what they had learned—the fight between Caitlyn and Jennifer, the clandestine meetings with elite clientele, and Jennifer's assertion that Caitlyn and Daniel were up to something.

"But here is where we struck out," he said into the phone, "no one admitted to making that call to Caitlyn the night of her murder. Of all the people in the penthouse at the time, only three people's whereabouts are unaccounted for—Samantha Dobbs, a house guest by the name of Timothy Scott, and the butler."

"It was the butler. The butler did it," Ryan shouted in the background. Beckett didn't need to be riding shot gun to see the satisfied smirk plastered on Ryan's face.

"Each one claims ignorance when it comes to the call."

"I wouldn't call that a strike out though," Beckett said, "we now know that whatever was said is important enough to lie about—whether it was directly related to Caitlyn's death or not. Look into those three's backgrounds—the usual stuff; see if anything pops."

"You got it." They hung up, and Beckett recapped what she had learned to Castle, assured that if there was something lurking in any of the background checks, Esposito would be sure to find it. She trusted his instincts as much as her own.

The drive to OCME to meet with Lanie had taken longer than they expected. A multi-car pile up combined with auxiliary accidents from rubbernecking drivers left them in stop and go traffic for over an hour. She was about to pick up her phone and let Lanie give her the details without an up close and personal with the body when a police cruiser showed up and began rerouting traffic into an opposing lane. She breathed a sigh of relief. Besides the fact that she was looking forward to seeing her friend, Beckett didn't know how much longer should could tolerate the literary flair Castle was injecting into the traffic debacle.

"The sound of shattering glass surrounded him—pinging against the blacktop, tiny, sharp pellets mixing with debris and blood."

"Castle, you can't even see what happened."

"Jutting metal segments jabbed into his ribs, his arms caught in a nightmarish land of loose wires and twisted plastic. Up was down and down was up."

"Castle, someone could be seriously hurt."

"A quarter mile down the road, a smart and sexy—albeit slightly annoyed—female detective waited impatiently for the wreck to clear. Her ruggedly handsome partner keeping the mood light with his rapier wit."

"Castle."

"Disappointed, but never defeated, her handsome partner sensed his efforts were not paying off and—"

"Castle."

"And he decided to end the story there. Traffic's moving." He pointed to the cars inching forward.

They walked into the morgue to find Lanie hunched over Caitlyn's head, a large magnifying glass inches from her scalp as she tweezed out nearly invisible pieces of glass and placed them into a small collecting dish. "Just give me," she slowly parted Caitlyn's hair, using a delicacy more fitted for a living person, "one..more…minute. And I got it." She held up a sliver of glass. "But this is not what you are here to see." She motioned for Beckett and Castle to join her next to the body.

"So I don't mean to sound crass," said Castle, "but is it really that surprising for her to have cocaine in her system. I mean her mother's testament aside, sex, drugs, and rock and roll kind of go with the territory. Or in this case sex, drugs, and murder."

"And that's where you'd be wrong," countered Lanie.

"I thought you said you found cocaine," said Beckett, looking confused.

"I did." Lanie smiled and held up a bag with the victim's clothing. "I found it all over her clothes." She picked up Caitlyn's hand and turned it palm up pointing to her fingers. "I found it underneath all her nails. But I never said I found it in her system."

Multiple theories percolated in Beckett's head. Castle, channeling her thoughts, began throwing out ideas.

"Caitlyn was using the club as a front for trafficking drugs. Caitlyn was unwittingly thrown into a drug trafficking scheme with Daniel as the front runner." All plausible hypotheses so far Beckett thought, especially given what Esposito had relayed from his meeting at Daniel's penthouse. "Caitlyn found some mysterious white powder and mistook it for pixie sticks." And decidedly less plausible.

"And you'd be wrong on all accounts." The voice came from a man standing just outside the doorway. Nobody had realized they had an eavesdropper.

"Excuse me?" Beckett stared the man down as he slipped into the room pulling back his blazer to reveal an NYPD badge.

"Name's Preston Davis. But your boys know me as Timothy Scott." He extended his hand to Beckett who was slowly processing how and why she knew the name. "I didn't want to out myself when I talked to Detectives Ryan and Esposito back at Mr. Henry's, but I'm hitting a dead end on my end and thought it be beneficial for both of us if we work together."

"And what exactly would we be working on Mr. Davis?" She eyed him suspiciously, not ready to trust a quickly flashed badge as evidence that they were in fact on the same team.

"How did you put it?" he turned to Castle. "Sex, drugs, and murder. Only I'm much more interested in the drugs and you're much more interested in the murder. Shall we find someplace to sit?"

They walked out of the morgue into an attached break room, the smell of burnt coffee and an overly ripe banana overriding the smell of formaldehyde. Beckett tried to get a read on Davis, to access her internal bullshit meter, but his demeanor was so relaxed, so composed, that she couldn't tell if he was playing her or just really good at his job.

"Mr. Davis can you tell me what you were doing inside Daniel Henry's penthouse?" Beckett initiated.

"Short story—I'm with narcotics, down at the 5th. A few months ago we had got some intel that Daniel Henry was operating a drug trafficking ring out of his New York based night clubs. With enough persuasion," he lingered on the word persuasion, "we were able to elicit Miss Madison to assist us in our investigation. Everything was going well—we found enough evidence to nail Daniel for possession—but we were hoping to get some more substantial evidence. Find the bigger fish swimming up the supply chain. And then this happened," he nodded back toward the morgue. "I became friends," he held up his hands placing air quotes around friends, "with Daniel back on a drug sting I did a couple years ago. I was working undercover, our paths crossed, and the relationship stuck. When his name popped up on our radar they sent me—well Timothy Scott that is—in to covertly investigate."

"Do you know what happened the night she was murdered?" Castle asked. "Was she on the clock for you?"

"That's where I was hoping you could fill in the blanks. We know Daniel has amassed large quantities of cocaine—close to $200,000 worth in a few of his clubs, we've seen the financials revealing the purchase, but that's as far as we got. No indication of how his distribution works. Not even a record of incoming money from the sale of the drugs. It's like he purchased it and is now just sitting on it. The night Caitlyn died she was supposed to be doing routine surveillance—nothing out of the ordinary. The next thing I know she's dead. We were holding back, not showing all our cards so to speak until we could gather more intel. We didn't want to spook anyone he might be working with."

"Well I'd say this is cause for abandoning circumspection and moving on with plan B," Beckett said, not wanting to disclose too much of what she knew until she verified Davis's credentials with narcotics. She looked to Castle and, seeing the cautious, reserved look in his eyes, knew he was on the same page. "Quick question, did you make a call to Caitlyn around 1am the night she was murdered?"

"I'll tell you the same thing I told your partners, wasn't me."

Castle glanced from Davis to Beckett. "Well I guess this rules out Timothy Scott. I call the butler."

Beckett smiled at him. "You and Ryan both then." She turned her attention to Davis. "Let's head back to the precinct. I think it's time to put some more pressure on Mr. Henry." Castle knew that look—Beckett's eyes darkening, her body growing rigid as her lips twisted into a smirk—it was the same look he imagined a shark shot its prey just before striking. The break room became calm as the men waited to hear her proposition. "I'd say a search warrant is in order."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Things are starting to heat up case wise in this story. Are you all missing out on pure Caskett scenes? Don't worry, they are coming up soon! Again, please review and let me know what you liked and what didn't really work. I'm always looking to improve. **

**Also, how cold did it get where you all live? It was -17 here! Windchill -42! What a perfect excuse for a Castle marathon!**

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Her team gathered in a tight huddle a few doors down from Club Couture, silent and attentive as they waited for her orders. Detective Davis, vetted upon their return to the precinct, sulked, shuffling his shoes through the slush that had accumulated from the overnight snowfall. As a man more accustomed to taking the lead, assembling the troops, deferring to no one, his demotion to second in charge, behind Beckett, had left him looking forlorn. In the chain of command, though, a murder investigation trumped a drug bust.

With a few strategically placed calls from Castle, Beckett had procured the search warrant a lot faster than normal procedure allowed, especially considering Daniel Henry was part of the whose who of New York City. Normally people of his status have enough connections to the legal system, she imagined judges and county clerks dangling from strings, marionettes dancing at will, that she would be hard pressed to find someone willing to not only sign the warrant but sign it within the hour. But then she learned long ago never to underestimate the persuasive power of Castle's charm and smooth talking.

"Detective Davis," his head snapped up at Beckett's voice. "Now that we're all here can you brief us on what you know?" She needed her team to all be on the same page, but more than that, she needed the narcotics detective to stop moping and get his head in the game. Davis appeared pleased to be taking the helm and he shifted seamlessly back into the professional, detached demeanor he exhibited in the morgue.

"We've been monitoring Mr. Henry's activity for about the last two months after receiving evidence that he was involved in trafficking cocaine."

"What sort of evidence?" Esposito asked, breaking the flow of his narration and eliciting a disapproving look from Davis.

"I'm getting there, Detective Esposito," he retorted.

Beckett internally flinched, hoping Esposito could keep his ego in check, even though she, herself, wanted to punch Davis and his haughty attitude right in the face.

Davis continued, "An anonymous source initially informed us via e-mail that drugs were present in the club. We sat on that information for a while, trying to determine the identity of the anonymous source when video footage clearly displaying the drugs in a hidden backroom locker came in. We were never able to ID the source nor how he or she obtained the footage, but it was enough to instigate an investigation." He covered his team's inability to implicate Daniel Henry in anything beyond possession and their involvement with Caitlyn.

"That explains a lot of Caitlyn's unusual behavior then," Ryan pointed out.

"Yes, although it doesn't explain her falling of the grid the couple days before her murder. We were actually surprised to learn she showed up at the club that night since she never checked in to confirm the surveillance duty or get wired up," Davis added.

"Okay so here's the plan," Beckett said, eyes jumping to each member of her team. She had shown up, search warrant in hand, at many unsuspecting people's places of business before, but it didn't mean the fear ever went away—it didn't mean her adrenaline didn't start coursing as worst-case scenarios and tactics ran through her mind. She just had learned to channel that fear into focus; she had learned to use it to sharpen her senses. "Espo, Ryan, Davis, and I will perform the initial search, focusing on that backroom locker during our initial sweep. Officer Hastings," she nodded to the young woman, glad to have a trusted and reliable officer on the assignment, "you're covering Mr. Henry. We have confirmation that he is in the building so make sure he doesn't try to pull anything once he realizes what we are here for. Officers," the three other uniformed men leaned in close, "I want one of you on the back door in case anyone, and I mean anyone, tries to run. Someone else take the front and then whoever is left has crowd control. Not that I expect this place to be hopping at four in the afternoon."

"Ahem," Castle raised his hand, "you forgot about me."

"Just stand there and look pretty," Beckett teased. "And don't touch anything." The officers in the huddle snickered, and Castle was about to protest when a muffled bang, almost like a car backfiring a few blocks over, rang out from inside the club. Smiles fell from the team member's faces as, one by one, they placed the familiar noise—a gun firing.

Esposito pulled his radio off his belt. "This is Detective Javier Esposito at four-one-six Broome, reporting a ten-ten, requesting backup." He holstered the radio and drew his gun, his eyes on Beckett waiting for instructions.

Beckett drew a single, deep breathe. She tried to keep her voice as calm as possible, dropping it an octave as she gave instructions for the four officers to head to the rear while her team of four, five counting Castle, positioned themselves outside the front entrance. Flashes from the previous night's visit—the aggressive reporters, the blinding camera lights—played out in her mind, but unlike that night, she was now in her element; she wouldn't freeze—she couldn't freeze.

Esposito and Ryan stationed themselves on the opposite side of the door, ready to spring into action on her count. Beckett silently motioned orders to them, and with a count of three the detectives pushed through, weapons aimed at each of the walls—a carefully choreographed dance that could easily turn deadly.

Inside the club was dim. Beams of mood lighting streamed down on each of the booths, but the flashy, strobing lights over the dance floor were hidden behind a curtain of black material. Beckett took less than a second to survey the room, noting only a single group of terrified looking patrons squatting below the table of one of the corner booths. She held up a reassuring hand and flashed her badge. A middle-aged man in a tweed suit pointed toward the bar where a door leading to the backroom, kitchen, and supply closet stood.

Esposito cut a path around the perimeter of the room in order to avoid walking into the direct line of sight of the small round window cut into the door. Beckett and Ryan followed, each hugging the line of booths with their backs. Castle, who would normally be primed to go, hung back with the patrons, and Davis followed suit. He knew the last thing Beckett would want is a potential witness bolting before she could get a statement.

Except for the sound of her own heart thudding against her ribs, Beckett couldn't hear any other telltale noises coming from behind the door. Each of the detectives waited a few seconds, ears pressed to the walls, listening. They all understood the importance of taking swift action, but even more important than running head first into the unknown was taking a few seconds to wait, listen, and gather as much information as possible about what they would be facing. The silence on the other end told them very little.

Ryan cautiously peaked into the circle window, gun held at the ready, but ducked back down with little more than the layout of the hallway to go on. Not willing to wait any longer, Beckett did a quiet three-count and lunged at the door, pushing it open with her shoulder. The metal handle clinked loudly as it smashed into the wall, sending an echo down the eerily quiet hall.

With the hallway cleared, Ryan and Esposito broke off from their formation, each heading toward one of two rooms on the right. That left a single room on the left at the very end of the hallway. Beckett inched forward, tip-toeing cautiously so that her presence would remain unknown up until the very last moment. A sliver of white light cutting across the linoleum floor caught her attention, and she noticed that the back door was propped open about an inch by a wooden wedge. Had her team placed that there? She'd have to figure that out later.

About a foot from the room still, she heard a low grumble. Feeling as ready as she ever would be, Beckett launched herself into the room, her gun pointed steadily into the center of the space.

"NYPD," she shouted as her gaze jumped wildly from corner to corner. She half expected to come face to face with the barrel of another gun, maybe a high kick to the head as the assailant made a mad dash toward the exit. She wasn't prepared for what she did see.

Laying in the middle of the floor, a pool of thick, red blood seeping into the cracks of the tile around his abdomen was Daniel Henry. Beckett rushed forward, screaming for Esposito and Ryan to join her. She grabbed a jacket hanging on a coat rack and pressed in into his side, desperately trying to stop the flow of blood. Her pressure just sent out a fresh gush of red.

Daniel's eyes stared at her, glassy and unfocused—looking but not really seeing. His face was starting to turn ashen as the blood pooled into his core. He reached out and gripped her wrist with a surprising strength. Behind her, Beckett could hear Esposito on the radio calling in the incident; she could hear Ryan alerting the other officers in the back alley, and she could feel Castle behind her, a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Time sped up, slowed down, reversed, and turn back on itself. Had it been minutes or hours? She couldn't tell. The smell of blood, the hot, sticky liquid coating her hands was disorienting. Daniel's vice grip tightened, and he struggled to lift his head off the tile, his lips inching closer to her head.

"Mr. Henry," she said, her voice sounding gravelly and foreign. "Who did this Mr. Henry? What happened?" Daniel whispered, his breathy words getting lost in the commotion occurring behind them. He tried to clear his throat, but it left him wheezing, a low gurgle bubbling up from his chest.

Beckett leaned in closer until her ear was almost touching his face. "Tell her I didn't know," he muttered.

"Tell who, Mr. Henry?"

"I wouldn't have left."

"Mr. Henry, I don't understand."

"Please." He gasped, but his lungs were faltering, his chest tightening. Beckett watched as his head lopped back, his hand becoming stone-like around her wrist. She reached one hand up to his neck, pressing her fingers where a pulse should be, knowing she would find none.

Beckett released the pressure on his side and fell back on her heals, the weight of her body resting against Castle. She heard the sound of sirens, foggy and distant. The part of her that was all too human—the part that felt too deeply for each of her victims—wanted to sit there, enveloped in silence while the commotion played out around her, while Daniel Henry's blood dripped from her fingertips, but her instincts kicked in and she sprung up.

"Officer Hastings," she shouted toward the back exit. Hastings didn't answer.

"Detective Beckett," another officer shouted back, the urgency cutting through his voice. Beckett catapulted herself toward the back door. "Hastings is in pursuit of a possible suspect." The officer said into his radio, "target is heading north on Lafayette. Repeat target is heading north on Lafayette." He turned to Beckett, "patrol cars are in the vicinity and should be able to cut him off."

Knowing how easy it was for a suspect to disappear into a throng of pedestrians or duck into one of the many small shops lining the street, Beckett didn't want to sit idle. She took off running, turning down a one-way street that ran diagonally toward Lafayette, hoping that if she ran fast enough she could intercept the suspect. Her lungs burned as she sucked in the cold air, compelling her legs to move faster. She could hear steady footfalls behind her and guessed that either Ryan or Esposito weren't far behind. When she turned the corner, she saw Hastings sprint toward and enter a deli on the opposite side of the street. Beckett followed.

Opening the front door, she immediately had to duck to avoid being sideswiped by a large cold cut platter that came hurtling in her direction. The suspect stood behind the deli counter, a block of cheese in one hand and a three pound turkey in the other. His eyes nervously jumped from Beckett to Hastings, fixed on the two guns pointed directly at him. Unless saturated fats counted as a weapon, he didn't appear armed.

"NYPD." shouted Hastings. "Come out from behind the counter. Put your hands where I can see them." Beckett took a couple tentative steps toward the counter. Before she could get close enough, an employee, oblivious to the chaos occurring in the front of the shop, poked his head out of the kitchen, shouting that he was going to take his break. The suspect used the distraction to bolt toward the back, pushing the confused staff member out of the way.

Beckett and Hastings followed, running through the kitchen area where dish washers and prep cooks stumbled out of the way issuing a string of profanities in their wake. "NYPD. Stop or I'll shoot," Beckett yelled after him, knowing it was an empty promise when there were so many innocent people who could get in the way. The suspect pushed through the back door, and Beckett feared they were about to lose him again. Five steps behind him, she caught the door just before it could click shut and flung it open.

"Castle," she said, coming to an abrupt stop as Officer Hastings nearly crashed into her back. Castle was perched on top of the suspect, wrangling the man's arms behind his back, a surprised but pleased grin on his face.

"Now you didn't think I'd just sit back and miss out on all the fun, did you?"

"How?...Where?..." Beckett stammered.

"The more important question is why. The answer, because I'm super duper awesome." Beckett wanted to come back with a quip of her own, but she had to admit, Castle showing up at just the right time and place was, for lack of a better expression, super duper awesome.

Their pinned suspect piped up, "Shit man, you ain't awesome. You abusive. You crushin' my ribs." Castle loosened his grip and Beckett signaled for Officer Hastings to cuff the guy, realizing she still had smears of blood covering her hands.

"Well, now I'm going to crush your spirits when I tell you that you are under arrest," Castle replied.

"What were you doing running down that alleyway?" Beckett asked, plucking his wallet from his jacket pocket.

"Running? Was I running? That was more like a casual jog. You know, get my heart rate up. Diabetes runs in my family after all." Beckett was not amused.

"Okay," she looked down at his driver's license, "Mr. Snyder," she leaned toward him, close enough to see his pupils dilate. "Easier question—why were you in that alleyway to begin with?"

"Jeez lady, so many questions. You know stress isn't good for my heart. High blood pressure—"

"Let me guess," Castle interrupted, "runs in your family."

"Exactly. Doctor said I got to take it easy. Meditate or some new-agey shit like that."

"Well then you'll have plenty of time to meditate when you spend the night down at the precinct," Beckett threatened. Mr. Snyder didn't seem too concerned but he talked anyway.

"Okay look, I work for a courier service. I was making a delivery when your guys, and lady, come chargin' down the alley. Guns blazin'. Lookin all stealth commando like. I tell myself, self, you in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I took off runnin'."

"And why didn't you stop when you saw you were being pursued?" Castle pressed.

"Let's just say I've been in enough cat and mouse scenarios that I've learned you always run and keep runnin'."

Beckett could hear the NYPD patrol car sirens approaching, and she sent Hastings to flag it down. Trusting that the officer could get their suspect back to the precinct without anymore mishaps, she loaded him in the back of the cruiser and began the trek back toward Club Couture. She would handle Mr. Snyder later, for now, she had a new crime scene to get back to.

"Hey, you okay?" Castle asked. He had succumbed to the silence for nearly the entire walk back, but the look of anguish on Kate's face was heartbreaking. She let out a weak, half-laugh.

"Am I okay?" she spit out, sounding angry. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question. He was your old friend after all." In the long pause that followed Beckett reached out, and grabbed Castle's hand, intertwining her fingers through his. "I'm sorry. I'm so angry about how this is all turning out, and I took it out on you."

Castle stopped and grabbed her shoulders, turning her body to face his. "Hey, it's okay. I'm angry too. Angry that Daniel lost his life. Angry that Caitlyn lost hers. Angry that people do bad things to one another to begin with."

"Angry that I wasn't able to stop it," Beckett added, her voice weak.

Castle saw the tears building behind her eyes. He saw the blame, the guilt, the sadness. He saw the weight of the world that she carried around with her on a daily basis. "Angry that you feel like you should be able to stop it. This is not on you, Kate."

"Isn't it? Here I was pegging Daniel for being involved somehow when I should have been protecting him." Castle pulled her in close, surrounding her with his arms to block the wind swirling down the alley.

"You do so much good. More than most. You can't let yourself be defined by the bad things that happen."

"Yes, but…"

"Yes, but nothing. Kate, let me ask you this. When you look back on our relationship, what do you think of first? The fights. The days spent not talking. The missed opportunities. Or do you think of the sweet moments we've shared? Our trip to the Hamptons. The Birthday surprise party you threw for me. The day I asked you to marry me." He waited, hoping the message was sinking in.

"I remember the good."

"And that's my point, no matter what bad things happen, the good will always shine through. The good always outweighs the bad. What you do is no different."

Beckett wiped her eyes, clearing the build up of tears just as the ambulance, siren off, pulled past them and came to a stop outside the back entrance of the club. She let go of Castle's hand and followed after, mentally preparing herself to try and look at the crime scene with fresh eyes. Daniel Henry's blood, now crusted onto her hands and under her nails, wasn't going to make it easy.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks for all the feedback you guys have been giving me. My husband teases me because every time there is a new comment I look up from the computer and squeal. Seriously, it's one of the highlights of my day. Not sure if that means your comments are totally awesome (yes!) or my days are incredibly boring. (Both?)**

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Daniel Henry's eyes pointed toward the ceiling of his back-room office, the overhead lights infusing a lively twinkle not fitting for a man who had died less than an hour ago. Beckett crouched down next to him, gloved hands delicately brushing over his face to close his eyelids—an act done with equal parts respect for the dead and aversion for the man himself. Just outside the room she could hear Davis engaged in a heated discussion, his booming voice cutting off every so often, the ensuing silence only broken by a string of deferential 'yes sirs' and 'no sirs.' She almost smiled, imagining the verbal reprimand he was receiving.

Davis walked back in the room and addressed the detectives, "Chief is calling me back to the precinct. No drugs, no case." He looked longingly at the empty locker, like if by sheer desire he could will the cocaine to appear.

"So where does that leave us?" asked Beckett, hoping that the answer was off her team.

"We aren't closing the case, but given that our person of interest is no longer a viable suspect—or at least not a prosecutable one—we're backing off for now. I'll be in touch if anything comes up that's relevant to your investigation." He turned and walked out, his hands scrunched into white-knuckled fists and shoved into pockets instead of extended for a formal goodbye.

"Fine by me," said Esposito. "Guy was kind of a punk anyway."

"Javi, you gotta let it go," Ryan said, patting his partner on the shoulder.

"Dude, I let it go." Esposito pushed his hand away.

"Mm-hmm, okay." Ryan cast a skeptical look toward Castle hoping to elicit his opinion, but Castle just shrugged, swimming past the bait.

"Okay guys, let's focus," Beckett urged as the current of forensic analysts swirled around them, collecting and cataloging evidence. "Espo?"

"I talked with the booth of club patrons and staff, no one heard anything pre-gunshot—no voices, no doors opening," he pointed to the back door, now closed. Forensics had already bagged the wooden wedge that had been propping it open. "Daniel usually comes into the club every Saturday afternoon, takes to his office back here so nothing out of the ordinary there."

"But that does means whoever came back here likely knew his schedule—knew that he would be here," Castle added. Beckett felt a swell of parental-like pride for how adept Castle had become at drawing inferences.

"Ryan, anything?" Beckett asked, turning her attention.

"No one in the vicinity heard or saw anything. We are pulling security footage from the cameras within a few blocks radius, but I'm guessing like with Caitlyn's case, we aren't going to find anything since they offer a poor vantage of the sidewalk."

"What I don't understand is why he doesn't have a camera fixed on this room," Castle said, eyeing the ceiling . "You'd think he want to keep an eye on whatever he keeps back here."

Beckett rubbed her temple, trying to release the tension headache that was building. Almost forty-eight hours into this case and all she had to show for it was another dead body. She watched the paramedics slide a black, zippered bag underneath Daniel's body in preparation for his ride to the morgue. If she watched closely enough, she could swear she saw his lips parting in Morse-code like patterns, trying to communicate from beyond. His final words—_Tell her I didn't know; I wouldn't have left_—ran through her mind.

Sensing the gloom that was settling into the room, Lanie piped up from her spot next to the body, "Let me get him back to the morgue, pull this slug out. Maybe it will be a match for something we have in the system."

"And then there's Mr. Snyder," Castle said, attempting to damn up the river of guilt Beckett was floating down with another potential lead. "Chances are since we spotted him in the back alley shortly after the gunshot, he spotted someone leaving the club." Castle watched Beckett bite her lower lip, thought lines creasing her forehead. He wasn't used to seeing her this demoralized, but then, she wasn't used to witnessing people die in her arms. Everyone had their breaking point. "Why don't we swing past the loft and get you a change of clothes before talking to him though."

Beckett straightened up, resolve washing over her features. "Can you guys hold down the fort for half an hour?" She looked to Ryan and Esposito.

"Can we hold down the fort?" Esposito mocked, his hand gripping his chest as if the question was a great affront. "More like can you manage to change your clothes in thirty minutes with Mr. Primp and Preen on your heels?"

Beckett's smile was limp, but she forced the grin, grateful for Esposito's effort. She let Castle collect her coat from the front of the bar, mentally adding a trip to the dry cleaners to her to-do list and wondering if they offered a frequency card for removal of blood stains—she'd definitely be nearing a free cleaning by now.

The entire drive to the loft was a mental game of chess—moves and countermoves between her rational side, the side that didn't blame herself for Daniel's death, and the nagging guilt that told her if only she were smarter, more perceptive, quicker to act, she would have been able to stop it. She breathed deeply, but even with lungs full of air she felt like she was drowning, like her chest was collapsing in on itself, pressing her heart into her ribcage.

She pulled into her parking spot and slumped over the wheel, only slightly cognizant of Castle opening her door and extending an arm for her to latch onto. She anchored her arm around his—solid and grounded—and tried to submerge her guilt in the deep recesses of her mind, but the harder she tried to keep afloat, the more she found herself gasping for air, a sea of red blood washing over her vision.

"How are you holding up?" Castle asked, equally concerned and confused by the open display of raw emotions.

Beckett sighed. "Can I be honest?" Although she already knew the answer to this question.

"Of course." Castle unhooked their arms and pulled her flush with his body, walking hip to hip toward the elevator, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. He could feel a slight falter in Kate's normally strong, purposeful stride.

"When I was crouched over Daniel, pressing that jacket to his side, watching the blood pool around his body," she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the gruesome image, "I felt so…powerless." She looked over at Castle and was met with his attentive, loving gaze. "Part of the reason I love what I do is because it gives me back a sense of control I lost years ago—back when my mom died. Things like this remind me how tenuous—maybe even illusory—that control is."

"And here I thought you just really came to like the guy." Castle winced at his own joke. This wasn't the direction he wanted the conversation to go. Stepping into the elevator, he leaned against the back wall, pulling Kate toward him, her head cradled on his shoulder. He ran his fingers through her hair, catching them on the end of a strand matted with dried blood. How it got there, he didn't know.

"Castle," she began, his name laced with resignation. It was a tone he wasn't accustomed to hearing. "What if what I do is never enough?"

"Enough for what?" He pulled her closer, cocooning her within his arms.

Kate's mind was reeling, but she held tight to the familiar scent of Castle's cologne and the feel of his soft jacket against her cheek. She didn't even know what she meant by that statement; how could she possibly explain it to Castle? Enough to feel like what she did mattered? Enough to keep the panic and fear at bay? Enough to right the wrong that had been done to her family—to fight the injustice of it all? To silence the small voice that whispered all her struggles had been in vain? That was a tall order—an unreasonable expectation if she was being honest with herself. Castle's voice, focused and firm, cut through her thoughts.

"Kate, you are enough. You. All by yourself. In fact you're more than enough." The thought that Kate felt inadequate on some level made his throat tighten, emotions welling up in his chest, trying to escape. He forced back a sob, knowing it was his turn to be the strong one. "And that control you're so desperately afraid to lose—well if it weren't for you—for us—surrendering our need for certainty there wouldn't be an us. Think about it, how many times did we let an opportunity to be together pass us by because we were waiting for a hundred different variables to fall into place. Because we were looking for a sense of control over an outcome that we were never going to find."

He cupped her cheek in his hand, thumbing away a solitary tear. He wanted—no, he needed, to see his words register. He needed to know she understood. Castle continued, "Some of the greatest things in life happen when you let go. Is it scary? Yes. Does it sometimes implode? Sure. But when it does work, it's nothing short of—"

"Amazing." Beckett finished his sentence, resting her hand over his. "I believe a wise man once said that sometimes we don't have all the answers. That we have to learn to live with the questions." She smiled, remembering the day he told her that, and a warm glow radiated across her body

"And who is this wise man you speak of? Anyone I might know?"

Beckett dropped her hands to his hips, her fingers grazing over the rim of his pants, tugging him toward her. "Nah," she teased, her lips inches from his as her body pulsated with desire, with an overwhelming drive to not only tell him how much she loved him, but to also show him. The outline of her vision blurred, tunneling her focus on Castle's body and the hundreds of places she wanted to touch, to kiss, to work into a frenzy until he knew as well as her just how much he meant to her.

Castle watched Kate's eyes dance with fire, shooting out burning embers across his skin wherever they landed. The elevator pinged and he wasted no time in pushing her out the door, their feet shuffling in unison down the hall as he pressed his mouth over hers. She fumbled inside his pockets for the keys to the loft, the pressure of her hand against his thigh sending an electric current through his spine and up his neck only intensifying the kiss.

They stumbled into the loft, and Kate pulled his jacket down, flinging it across the floor, not caring where it landed. She grazed her hands over his shirt, eager fingers tracing the contour of his biceps as they pressed against the shirt material. She shrugged her own jacket off, her shoes following close behind, and led him toward the bathroom, her tongue now running circles around his bottom lip between jagged breathes.

By the time they reached the bathroom Castle's head was spinning, caught up in an intoxicating whirlwind of her scent, her touch, and his own need for her. He gently pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, attempting to slow his breathing, to turn his focus from his own needs to hers.

"Rick," she breathed against his cheek, hot and desperate, her lips grazing the rough stubble. Her face wash flushed and he swore he could see her heart beating rhythmically against her chest in time with his own breathing.

"How does a shower sound?" he asked remembering the original purpose for a trip to the loft. He reached into the shower and cranked the knobs until a thick cloud of steam billowed up from the floor.

"A shower sounds great." Her eyes scanned the length of his body, a twisted, mischievous smile spreading across her face. "But I can think of something that sounds even better."

"Well I've always been the master at multitasking." Castle pulled his shirt off and playfully tossed it toward her.

"Is that so?" She slipped her own shirt off, adding it to the pile of discarded clothes, and then slowly—painfully slow as far as Castle was concerned—reached around to unclasp her bra, letting it fall to her feet. "So Mr. Multitasker," she reached out, grabbed Castle's hand, and pressed it against her chest, smiling as he sharply inhaled, "what's five times eight?"

"I…uh.." He tried to process what she just asked but couldn't think with the feel of her breast beneath his palm—mesmerized by the beads of sweat forming on its upper curve as the shower steam rose up around them.

Kate held back a giggle, using all her will power to resist hurtling herself over the same spellbound cliff that Castle was dangling from. "How about the capitol of Ohio?"

"What?"

"The third planet from the sun?"

"It's…you…"

"Today's date?"

"God, Kate you're beautiful," he said finding his voice.

"I think it's actually the fifth, but since you're beautiful is an acceptable answer to any question I'll let it slide." She laughed without reserve, the sound echoing off the tiled walls, infusing a lightness into her features.

Castle thought it had to be one of the best things he'd heard all day.

"One last question," she said, shimmying out of her own pants before reaching toward Castle's belt. "What do you plan to do with me once we get in the shower?"

Castle arched his eyebrows, his lips mirroring her playful grin. He loved that even on days when their world felt like it was falling apart, a thousand jigsaw pieces blowing in the wind, nothing could put them back together again faster than just being together. Somehow, they would always be able to find beauty in the pain. "How about I just show you?" Castle replied. "But you're going to have to let go of some of that control you so desperately want to cling to." And there it was—the issue that brought them to this tipping point to begin with. "What do you say?"

Kate looked up into his eyes feeling a swell of love and trust, reveling in the fact that this messy, unpredictable, but oh-so-amazing life was hers. She reached out and lifted his hand, kissing each finger before laying it across the quarter-sized scar on her chest. "I think I can handle that."

* * *

Esposito held up his wrist as Castle and Beckett walked into the precinct. "Hey Ryan," he shouted to his partner who was studiously bent over at his desk. "What time did we get back to the precinct?"

"I don't know. Five-thirty maybe?" He glanced up briefly, nodding his head in acknowledgement of Beckett's arrival and then went back to scanning documents.

"I'll tell you what time it was," Esposito continued. The sarcasm creeping into his voice made it sound like he was headlining a comedy hour. "Five-twenty-one on the dot." He tapped the face of his watch. "And what time do you suppose it is right now? Beckett? Castle?" His gaze shifted between the two of them—desperate for someone to play along.

Castle humored him and looked down at his watch. "Looks like it's just shy of six-thirty."

"Now I'm not a math wiz but—"

"Neither am I apparently…at least under the right circumstance," Castle said, interrupting Esposito and eliciting a laugh from Beckett. She drew her hand to her mouth forcing the giggle back down, mortified because she was sure Esposito could see the dirty images running through her mind at that moment.

Esposito eyed them suspiciously before going on. "One hour and three…no make that four minutes. That's how long it took you to change your clothes."

"Yea, so?" Beckett remained nonchalant, not giving up any information, knowing it was driving him crazy. She fought back another giggle, enjoying the perplexed look on Esposito's face.

"You didn't have to shop for the outfit before you put it on, did you?"

Ryan piped up, "Javi, what did we say about you needing to let things go?" He swiveled around in his chair, legs crossed, hands propped under his chin. He looked like he was ready to psychoanalyze Esposito—maybe ask him to lie down a couch, talk about his dreams.

"Dude-I-let-it-go." He punctuated each word.

Castle, Beckett, and Ryan shared a glance and then said in unison, "Mm—hmm."

Esposito humphed, and pointed toward interrogation. "Your guy, Malcolm Snyder, is waiting in interrogation room two. We already looked into his alibi though—it checks out."

Beckett and Castle shared a silent sigh of relief, glad not to have to explain to anyone how a quick five minute shower turned into a thirty-five minute shower—although gymnast-like flexibility and cherry-scented shower gel came to mind. So long as no one stared too intently at their hands—wrinkled like prunes from too much time in the hot water—their secret was safe.

Castle and Beckett strode into the interrogation room, manila file in hand, and found Mr. Snyder pacing along the far wall.

"Trying to work in some extra exercise?" Castle asked. "You know, since we cut your run short earlier." Mr. Snyder didn't appear amused.

"Take a seat please, Mr. Snyder." Beckett motioned toward the chair and he obliged.

"Listen, I'll tell you the same thing I told the other cop. I was just makin' a delivery to the back door of the law office down there. You can call the company I work for; they'll confirm that."

Beckett didn't tell him that his alibi had already been confirmed. She wanted to see how cooperative and forthcoming he would be if he thought his neck was on the line. She opened the file folder on the table and leafed through the papers inside. Mr. Snyder fidgeted nervously in his chair, his eyes skirting around the room, trying to look anywhere but at the file.

"Looks here like you have quite the record—couple B and Es, an assault charge, and most recently you were busted for shoplifting two hundred dollars worth of…high end nail polish." Beckett squinted her eyes at the page. Had she read that correctly?

"Pink is definitely your color." Castle couldn't resist.

"I can explain that last one, you see—"

"Mr. Snyder." Beckett cut him off, not interested in hearing a tall tale. Castle, on the other hand, leaned forward, listening with rapt attention. "Do you remember seeing anyone else while you were making your delivery?"

"You mean on the way to makin'. Documents I was supposed to deliver are still sittin' in my bag the lady cop took when she brought me in."

"Focus, Mr. Snyder."

Mr. Snyder hunched over, elbows on knees, his hands pressing at his temples. "Yea, you know, there was someone else. Some lady came bolting down the alley just as I was locking my bike up."

"Can you describe her?" asked Castle.

"Amazing feet."

"Wait…what?"

"Lady had on these strappy little black pumps, size seven…seven and a half, maybe, two inch heels, three including the platform, zipper up the back, nice pointed toe. I think they were real leather. Super sophisticated-like."

Beckett glanced over at Castle and was met with the same amused look she was sporting.

"What? I have a thing for feet."

"Can you remember what any part of her looked like above her ankles? Beckett asked, the question ridden with doubt. When he couldn't, Beckett pulled out the DMV photos of Samantha and Jennifer. Again, she was met with a vacant stare. Realizing she wasn't going to get any more information from Mr. Snyder, foot fashion aside, she released him and reconvened back in front of the murder board with the rest of her team.

"So I've got some good news," Ryan began, picking up a sharpie. "The shoe prints in the alley where Caitlyn was murdered are a match for the prints found in the alleyway outside the club."

"So we know we're likely only dealing with one killer," Castle added.

"And" said Esposito, "CSU did find trace amounts of cocaine in the backroom locker. Detective Davis' intel might not have been that far off, although where the drugs are now we have no clue."

Beckett pulled back out her mental chess board—this time facing off against an unknown murderer instead of her own conscience. She watched the game unfold, move by move, starting with Caitlyn's murder and ending with Daniel shot dead in his office. She arranged and rearranged all the key pieces, watching the ripple effect each move had on the overall configuration of the board. A shrill beeping sound cut through her thoughts.

Castle pulled his phone out of his pocket and pushed the silence button ending the noise. "Oh crap," he said, looking down at the phone.

"What?" Beckett asked.

Castle stammered, trying to find the right words that would go over well with Beckett.

"Out with it, Castle," she urged.

"Remember how my mom wanted us to meet with that wedding planner?

"Yea." She didn't know what he was about to say, but the way he was nervously rocking back and forth was putting her on edge.

"Well I called her this morning while you were in the bathroom. Thought I'd get the ball rolling and see when she had time to meet. Turns out the only time she really had available over the next few weeks was…tonight. I thought we would have wrapped this up by now, you know, with how fast you normally solve a case…because you're super smart…and perceptive…and hardworking…and…you can let me know when it's okay to stop."

Even without the deluge of compliments Beckett wouldn't have been able to stay mad at him for longer than a second. But that didn't mean she would be able to drop everything mid-case either.

"You know," Ryan said, stepping in between the two, "assuming an hour long meeting is really only an hour," Esposito donned a self-satisfied grin off to the side, "you should go. We've got a list of things to look into—financials, phone records, alibis for a dozen or so other people—not to mention Gates is a bit preoccupied with the media spin for Daniel's death and probably won't even notice you're gone."

Beckett considered the proposition. She felt guilty leaving Ryan and Esposito to do all the grunt work while she talked cake flavors over a steaming cup of coffee. But she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she could get over that guilt a lot faster than the guilt she would feel over sending Castle for a one-on-one meeting to discuss details about _their_ wedding.

"Fine," she finally said, "but only because I don't trust Castle to not convince the wedding planner that a Star Wars wedding theme is a great idea."

"Hey," Castle exclaimed, the boyish twinkle back in his eyes, "I hadn't thought of that, but it is a great idea." They put on their coats and headed toward the elevator. "Picture it, Beckett. Stormtroopers for best men. Darth Vader as minister. We could dress the ring bearer as an Ewok." A noise sounding awfully close to a squeal came out of Castle's mouth. "We enter the reception through a tunnel of light sabers. A cake that looks like the Death Star…"

Castle's voice trailed off as the elevator doors closed, leaving Esposito and Ryan sharing a bewildered look.

"Yea man, not renting a Stormtrooper costume," Esposito said.

"Nope, not happening, but you could totally pull it off," Ryan said.

"You think?"

"Sure. Stormtroopers are those hairy, ape-looking creatures right?" Ryan kept a dead pan expression for as long as he could before cracking a cheek-to-cheek grin.

"Dude, not funny. Let's hope you can crack this case better than you can tell a joke."

"Shouldn't it be let's hope you can crack this case better than you can _take_ a joke."

Without another witty comeback in his back pocket, Esposito trudged off toward his desk—a quick peak at his watch letting him know how long Beckett and Castle had to return before he would start suspecting their meeting with the wedding planner had turned into a round two meeting in bed. Clearly, he thought, they were as coy as he was oblivious.

* * *

**I know in the real Castle universe it would be unheard of for Beckett to engage in such a frivolous meeting mid-case, but thankfully this is not the real Castle universe-it's mine-and thus I can have as much frivolous Caskett fluff as I wish. **

**Please let me know what you think! Does this border on too much M-rated content? Not enough? I have to admit that writing anything remotely sexual is hard for me (I swear I am more of a red-faced teenager at heart instead of a 29-year-old married woman) so I would love your input. **


End file.
